A little fat boy comes to our table with candy, he is asking if we sell it. No, darling, he says.
No, I say, shaking my head.
I smile as Tubby walks away but Jorge leaps into a comment.
That’s child labor, he says. That kid must pay his dues to his family, pay his keep. It gets worse during the school holidays.
We watch him go from person to person, showing his pitiful ware, almost tripping on a step.
That’s horrible, I say, horrible.
Our eyes wander out the window when the little boy goes outside, no doubt to meet a padre watching from the corner.
The theater across the street is where we led the debates for the 1986 immigration reform bill (Which granted amnesty to thousands of undocumented, permanent across the county). But it was crap by the time it was done. We got that through and started working on the next one the next day. That was twenty-two years ago. And we’re still working. How old are you? A lifetime ago. A whole lifetime.
Obama came here, to this café, on his “Tour of a Latino Neighborhood”. We have a picture. I met with him right here.
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