Tonight, I drove to Hub City Diner, and at some point after the gumbo when the mug of decaf was warming my hands, I saw the boy and girls in their red t-shirts with the anchors. Hope was printed on their backs. A girl at the next table was in a white shirt and brown skirt--the uniform at Mount Carmel when I was in grade school. Her one-shoed toddler sister ate french fries and stared at me.

There was a moment, the white light fixtures mirrored in the darkening windows, the red shirts, everyone (but the toddler) occupied in the business of their own tables, the space of their daily theater, as though unaware of anyone beyond. A Stevie Ray Vaughan song played on.

And then, the moment was gone. Two tables emptied. The toddler girl stuck her leg out for her mom to put her Maryjane back on her foot.