I was out on the street by noon and started looking for the families I owed pictures to. I always worry that they will have moved and I'll be left wondering what happened and a pile of undeliverable pictures.
Mac was where he always is, the lower 9th ward village, this time playing a bang up game of Dominos with an old rival. I also found Cosmo who said Ronald Lewis was in at the House of Dance and Feathers, so I headed over to Tupelo and talked with the King. They have both promised to talk to me more about community and the building of it.
At the end of the day I stopped at the St. Claude Tire Shop for a gab with Joe Peters and some of the other guys that work at the tire shop. He has promised to take care of my car and anything else with wheels if I should relocate to this fair city, which Mac keeps telling me is where I belong. He says he doesn't say that to everyone who visits the Village, but I'm not sure I believe him.
The men from Latin American thought I was with the FBI, but eventually lightened up when I reassured them that I wasn't with the feds or immigration, or the city. They said they knew each other only from here and went their separate ways after work. When I asked if they ever gave up a day's work for someone who'd not had any luck for a while, they said, "Never." They sometimes share food, but when it comes to getting the work, it's every man for himself, whoever gets on the truck first, gets the money to pay the bills here and send something home to build a house for the family.
They all said they want to go home as soon as possible. The work that was so abundant after Katrina is more sparse and sometimes at the end of the day they get stiffed.