So there I was, in the grocery store line, with my opulent spread of chips, salsa, and Pete's Wicked Ale. The fellow in front of me in line had no basket, no cart; just two bean and cheese burritos, two apples, and a carrot, rolling around on the conveyer belt. It looked as if he had wandered through the grocery store thinking "Food...hmmm...what is it people eat...I know, apples! Also carrots. And, um, burritos."

On closer scrutiny, he seemed to be about twenty-five, going on eighty. His clothes were disheveled, dirty, and several sizes too large. He was emaciated, with a scraggly blond beard, uncombed blond hair, and yellow teeth. His hands trembled a bit while he took out his wallet. I snuck a peek at his drivers license while he found his Albertsons card. The license photo showed a sweet faced kid (seventeen? eighteen?), with chubby cheeks, big glasses, clean shaven chin, short blond hair, and a giant shit eating grin. I was seeing the portrait of Dorian Gray, only in reverse.

I know that the American Dream (and the corresponding Calvinist work ethic) holds that everyone is given a chance; poverty is the sole lot of the slacker and the slugabed. Is that actually true, though? I have a hard time believing that such a sweet faced kid could, through a series of voluntary choices, end up buying his food one bean and cheese burrito at a time. Perhaps that was the case. I'm not sure. In any event, let's all say a prayer for everyone on the edge (emotionally, fiscally, or otherwise).

What did we use to say? "There, but for the grace of God, go I..."