It all happened so fast.  About 60 seconds ago.  I'm sitting in a Charlotte city center coffee shop with good coffee, free internet, and grainy black and white photos of Vancouver on the walls.  A middle aged black man in a maroon shirt, faded black jeans, and wearing headphones connected to a personal CD player (remember those?) came into the door.  He ambled over to a 30-year-old white guy watching videos on his iphone.  The visitor began to say something, but before he could continue the manager poked his head around in the corner and said, "you can't be in here, bud."

It took me about thirty seconds to figure out what had happened.  The visitor didn't "look homeless," his clothes were clean, he wasn't disruptive or foul-smelling.  But he must have been known.  As I watched him walk away, head held high, I was disturbed by how easily he complied with the manager's demand (I guess I'm just used to standing up for my rights; I'm learning that not everyone "has rights")–and I was impressed with his dignity and restraint.