Conversation in South Baltimore

Three men sit on a stoop, red-eyed, joking with one another. Every day they hold court on these steps, alone or in a group, thinking out loud, passing the day away, brooding. They know they are poor and alcoholic, but most of all they know the ghetto and how it smells and falls apart. They'll tell you that looking you in the eye, and describe how much it hurts. Sure they know. All they have to do is turn on the television and watch Mrs. Middle Class vacuum her horribly dirt-ridden shag carpet to know. They watch and wonder why they live the way they do.

"Isn't this country supposed to be rich? I mean if it is, then why do I live here, sitting on these steps, waiting for the damn government to give me my lunch?"

All three fought for the country and came back disabled, and now wonder, after doing their part for America, why the government doesn't feel it has to doits part for them.

The "government" sits forty miles away from the three men in South Baltimore, handing out checks and churning away, but, to them, nothing ever seems to change.