"Louisiana 2005"

They said to get out; well, lots of us ain't got the money to get out. If you ain't got money, you make do and wait.

Storms like this are scary, sure thing. I feel sorry for the kids; they deserve a shot at a long life, or more important, a better life.

But truth is, we'd be just as trapped if there wasn't a storm coming.

So the hurricane cuts our phone service -- that just means a day or two without hearing the phone ring, wondering what collection agency's calling about a bill, which grandchild needs to be bailed out. If the rain ruins the car -- it was liable to get repo'd any day now, anyway. And if the roads get busted up, it might keep the collections people out for a few days.

The ER's full? Well, maybe when the people in there are white retirees who have money but can't physically travel far, the politicians will pump some money into the hospitals that the rest of us use as our doctors year-round.

Yeah, I might die here. The wind might rip the roof off this arena and dump one of the lakes in on us, drown us all like rats.

I'm 70 years old. I've buried three children, five grandchildren, have two grandchildren in jail right now. My 12-year-old granddaughter is pregnant. This storm will pass through here; if it kills people, it kills them. It's a tourist. But tragedy hangs around my neighborhood year-round.

This is the only time I've ever had a chance to set foot in this place, this arena. I've lived my whole life in the slums, but I might just die in a box seat. Closest I'll ever get to upward mobility.