Money, Self, God and Repeat

Brick duplexes boarded up all along the street. The gas station at the corner closed up with an anachronistic price for gasoline still up. Cars up on blocks and as we drove along the few people that were left peeked anxiously out their windows.

“Last time I was here people were walking the sidewalks, people on roofs listening to music.”

“That was the last time you were here, like 3 years ago. It’s all changed now. The only people who stayed were the ones that kept their jobs and the small gangs that robbed them.”

The sun and blue sky seemed out of place here. It should all be gray with a light mist continually falling, reminding everyone of their plight. But, the world is prosaic and the sun shines wherever it wants to.

“I guess I didn’t realize it was hitting the cities this hard.” A lone child with a sad, brown paper bag walked along carrying a folder in her hand. “Are the schools still open?”

“Only a few privately funded ones. Some of the teachers got together and bought a warehouse and some desks and they let anyone who wants to learn come and learn. But, there’s about a dozen teachers and hundreds and hundreds of kids. I went to help out a couple of times but it’s too dangerous. Half of the kids are older and there to sell drugs. Teachers mostly ignore them and try to reach the younger ones before they get into that stuff.”

“It’s hell here.”

“Yeah. Mostly.”

Between two crumbling two story houses there was a garden with a sign that read “Brickland Community Garden”. A woman with a red scarf around her neck worked at the weeds. When we passed she gave us a glance then got back to it.