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howled with laughter when Gavin asked to see the menu. An old, gnarled man guffawed,
and with the few remaining yellow teeth in his stubbly mouth and eyes red and puffy said,
“Ain' no menyer in a soup kitchen, lad! Yer gets wot's given yer! Hee hee hee.”
An elderly lady with tight blue hair curls and a matron's uniform of authority rapped for at-
tention on the front table, her narrow little glasses perched on the brink of her nose, “Good
morning everyone, welcome to the Lord's kitchen. I see we have a few new faces, welcome
to you as well. Let us say grace before we begin eating today's breakfast.” She looked up
at the roof and closed her eyes, “Let us pray for the souls that have left our midst, and for
those of us who struggle on with our daily loads. Help us with our weaknesses, oh Lord,
and take pity on those who have not yet found Your path. We ask that You bless this food
in Your name's sake, Amen.”
“Amen,” chorused the disheveled group of converts. I snuck a look at Gavin and Liz. Gavin
was blatantly staring at a young lady who had evidently fallen by life's wayside and who
had been helped to her feet. I could see why Gavin was interested in her. She filled her
tattered shirt rather well.
Liz was smiling at me, “OK, you guys? This isn't too bad, is it? Wait 'til you see the break-
fast; it's always so 'ono'.”
“I bet she's pretty delicious too,” added Gavin, still staring openly at the girl in her scruffy,
dime store clothes.
Soon, there was a clatter of plates and trays and the sounds of volunteers placing food in
front of the hungry, homeless diners. The aromas were mouth watering as I made my way
over to the coffee urn and poured three large white china cups full of hot coffee with two
heaped teaspoons of brown sugar and milk to the brim; I cautiously made my way back. A
steaming plate of bacon and eggs, sausages, tomatoes, toast, and hash browns was waiting
for me at my place. I fell to it hungrily, and silence reigned as we all devoured our food. It
was delicious, and cheerfully the din and clatter of satisfied souls soon pervaded the silence
once again.
Friends came over to chat to Liz after we had eaten; she was very popular and a natural
amongst these poor folk. She had no pretenses whatsoever and they instinctively knew that.
She introduced us to them, and I recognized the man whom we had seen passed out in the
yard the night we were on our way to Dirty Dan's.
“Who is that guy, Liz?” I asked, pointing him out discreetly.
“Oh, that's Reggie. He was a Navy Seal in Vietnam; he never got over the atrocities he was
expected to perform. Poor guy, he suffers terribly from bad memories and is on a major
guilt trip. He is in and out of here all the time; he's good people.”
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