Poor Fred goes to the hospital. He can’t hardly breathe, has pneumonia, and his legs all swoll up. He’s in Truman now. The people in the Apt down the hall, people are taking some food to them. I like that woman and her kids. They are polite, and God fearing. But the people in this building..flat out- they don’t have that much to spare. Just the canned food they have saved from the Church pantries. Usually this stuff is the kind of yukk food that most people do not like, such as mixed vegetables and macaroni.
Fred has type I diabetes. That is the bad kind. I keep wondering, if it would be better in Mexico or some other country? I wonder if life would be better there, than here. People take drugs here, smoke cigarettes, and do not take care of themselves.