After reading the two books which are in my previous post, my memory was rekindled as to an intriguing conversation that I had a little under two years ago.
A friend of mine was working at the newer pizza place which is located on Broadway right by B-Sharp music. At that time, I had also held an apartment right upstairs from this establishment. So, I traveled downstairs to chat with my friend and ended up sitting at a table. A rather modest man was seated at the table next to me enjoying a nice plate of pasta. Randomly, he decided to start a conversation with me. The conversation was very casual as he proceeded to speak with me about a movie that had to do with rats taking over the world. I expressed to him how I had never heard of such a movie, but being the older individual that he was, told me it was before my time and had come out in the early 80's. This man was a nice guy I thought, very personable, even though he was rather grundgy. I would say that he was in his mid to late 40s and was a construction worker so he looked rather worn down. Once our conversation was finished, he strolled out of the area and walked to his home.
My friend came over to me shortly after this encounter. Apparently this fellow came in every day for his 1 meal that he could afford. He was a "squatter" and lived in an abandoned house up the road by Vinton Street. Instantaneously, I started to feel remorse for this nice individual who was trying to make it in Providence. My buddy told me not to worry since this guy had it "all right": he drank all he wanted, had a roof over his head, had a close friend that squatted with him, and he was content with his life. That short conversation that I had with this man though, stuck with me, and I could not help but feel like I had made a connection with him.
Around only a week later I heard shocking news. This friendly squatter had passed away in a fire. The abandoned home they had been staying in was what had caught aflame. The two men had been drinking and smoking inside of this boarded up building when they knocked over a candle and the fire ignited from inside. A padlock had been placed on the inside of the apartment to keep outsiders from getting in. As a result, the key could not be found in time to unlock the door and get out of this trap. These men suffocated and died within the buliding they were squatting in.
I asked my friend to visit their old home with me a few days later. On the lonely boards of this washed up home were messages to their lost souls. Messages from the few friends that had known the conditions in which these struggling men were living by. On the diminishing front steps were weathered away flowers brought by stragglers. I said a few prayers and we continued on our way.
It is shocking how quickly someone can meet a person, and how within a couple of days discover they will never see that individual again.
This instance is one of the few occurances that I can say truly impacted my life. Although it is a unfortionate event to an extent; it is still one that I am extremely grateful to have experienced. It was an eye-opener to the portion of our population that people chose to ignore.
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