Lonnie was sitting next to a bus station, smart trip card in hand, but even though several buses came and went, he didn't seem interested in their destinations. I asked him if he would tell me about himself, and his first words were, "I'm disabled." Born and raised in the District, he had worked 35 years for the government, the Smithsonian, and even Ben's Chili Bowl, but had suffered several heart attacks, strokes, and seizures. During one of his surgeries, he lost the vision in his right eye. He had owned a house up close to U Street, but had lost it because of taxes.
A soft spoken man, I realized that I found myself leaning closer and closer to him as he told me about his life. He shared his frustrations with the "system only looking out for one guy" and how the "poor man will never get out." He spoke of his dismay over our current culture where "if I do anything, just walk down the street, they will put me in jail - even if we don't do anything wrong." In a voice barely above a whisper, he told me that everybody in D.C. knows him; that you could ask anybody about Lonnie.
