I cannot help it. Every mention of the ongoing mortgage crisis brings it all back to me and it is 2003, 2004 and 2005 all over again. There I am, back in GA, fighting for my condo after I discovered that it was mortgage fraud. There I am, having bill collectors calling me for the first time in my life demanding money that I don’t have. I withdraw $20 from the ATM and it is only to buy a little bit of food—sourdough bread from Eatzi’s, the deli in Buckhead, and some cheese. I cannot afford more. I am doing what I can to get a grip on things, but that is not easy when you’re desperate not to lose your home. There is no residence, not that kind of residence, any more.


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