Thinking about Haiti
An old woman was contacted by a NYT reporter recently while she rocked in her chair on a patio where about 40 other earthquake victims lay without shoes, running water or possessions. She stared off into the sky, slowly recalling her old life in a leaky one room hut in the middle of abject poverty. "I had my own bed," she said "my own pots and pans... I had few things but I was myself. I was happy." Now she's miserable and her only comfort (if that's the word) is everybody else's misery.
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