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Monday, June 6, 2011

From the Soup Kitchen's Front Line

My friend Plague just emailed me after a volunteer shift at a local soup kitchen. One story made me cry. It's really the story of anyone who's been in a destitute situation, which I have been, but a long time ago. She wrote:

"I know everyone's hard hit, and I'm one of the luckier by far. We served a guy today who broke down and cried. He'd come in after the food was put away, and said that he was hungry in a heartbreaking could see it broke him to say it. J*** put a huge container of chicken in his hand, I told him that the sauce was very, very good and he should dip rolls into it, giving him a bunch, and the guys ran off to get him drinks and toilet paper and whatever dry goods we had on hand. And he wept. It was one of those moments when the shell of life breaks open and everything is agonizingly clear..I feel oddly melted."

Well, Plague, you're melted because you have a heart. It's an unforgivable shame that this nation of riches that can afford ten years of needless war ignores what's happening in its own streets. We have a large homeless population for a small town. There are few jobs to go around, and less since Waldemort came and a lot of Main Street stores closed. Employers can do anything they want to the workers because of the job scarcity. How many people do you know who've worked for the same company for 3+ years and still make less than ten bucks an hour? I know quite a few here. That's the real deal of living in America. Don't believe the hype.

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