I sit on the front porch of my work waiting to start my shift, knowing that by the end of this day I will be bone tired, weary tired the kind that takes a lot of melatonin to wash away the hustle and bustle of a 10 hour shift. But it’s silly and sentimental and maybe cliche that over each table today life will happen, conversation, coming together…the togetherness of life. My small tiny part will be to deliver well and then slip away to the next guest noticed but just barely if I do my job right. Life is strange and beautiful sharing hurts and happiness, there’s really no better place than to do so over a table. It isn’t magic really it’s a communion. It stirs up parts of me that are a little bit dusty, it kindles that young 19 year old naive girl who set out to change the world and ended up serving tables at a homeless shelter…my first serving gig was in an old warehouse in downtown Atlanta and the guests there are really no different than me, and the rest of us…hungry for something more sustaining than food.