Maria and I went to Jean’s Place to pick up our take-out lunch. Jean’s is always a bee have of chatter and community at lunchtime, the stools, and tables fool, the Attack Waitresses rushing back and forth, people hugging, saying hello, gossiping, lamenting sickness and loss.

One woman I met there lost a son in Afghanistan, she has come to Jean’s Place every Wednesday for five years to remember him with people who knew him – the staff there. She always sits at the same table, which is mysteriously, never occupied before she got there.

Her tea is always waiting on the table the way she likes it.

It was a bit like observing a death yesterday when Jean’s Place got the news that they had to close down.

They are innocent in every way they have nothing to do with the virus, have faithfully obeyed the health and restaurant regulations for decades, and yet in a few seconds their life’s work was snatched right out of their hands and taken away, possibly for good.

This image – Maria standing in an empty diner paying Kelsie for our lunch, and buying some of their wonderful muffins – was iconic to me, it symbolized the people who are the indirect victims of the virus, the ones who never make the news, never appear on White House podiums, are never discussed, the people all of the bailout money seems to miss, despite all the promises.

The people at Jean’s have a lot of heart, and a lot of class, and a lot of friends.  And they make a great egg n’ cheese sandwich, the best I’ve ever had.

They just might be okay.

The image is in honor of the invisible ones, caught in the backlash.  There are millions of them in trouble too.

This time, the politicians say, no one will be forgotten, everybody will get a check. I’ll be watching my mail.