Talking to strangers

As usual, I have been speaking to the people I meet on my travels. Last night I went to do the laundry and almost got left there at 9:30 PM because the shuttle didn't show up to pick me up until very late, and the store was supposed to close at 9. Jeremy has particularly pressing laundry needs because of the hot sweaty baseball he is playing, and there are no coin operated facilities at this hotel, though it boasts many other services (including sporadically running elevators, daily maid service, and free Internet available in the two rooms where I am writing from right now). In the interval, I talked to the owner of the laundry place, a Korean man of about 45 years old, I would estimate. His face was unlined, but seemed somehow pained and sad, if a bit blank. Sure enough, when we began to talk, the reasons for this poured out: his divorce and apparent breakdown, the loss of his business in Alexandria VA, his children's indifference to his absence (they apparently live in VA with their mother). He says he goes nowhere and sees no one, only the people who come to this place to do their laundry. He doesn't trust or like the locals, who have very small minds, in his view (and in mind, judging by what I've seen so far). He came to Georgia with a friend, with big plans of doing a low stress job, but eventually selling the business and moving on. However, the drought in this state and the high electric/gas bills caught him unready when the friend died, and he is apparently stranded. He struck me as being like the Sirens Odysseus encountered. His sad song sticks in my mind and makes we want to help him, but there is really nothing I can do. I hope that he gets himself out of this hole. People are the answer--they always are.