A Stranger in My Own Hometown

I don't know, sometimes, if I am a stranger in my own town or if my town is full of strangers.  Who are these people in the grocery store, walking the aisles and smiling at me with that smile given to strangers?  I don't know the people I meet going in and out of the post office.  I don't know the people working at McDonald's or the new Dollar Store.  (Well, some I know by face and a few by names, but the most are strangers.)  Did they move here while I was buried in a classroom and didn't know there was another world?  Even at church, I'm having to learn more names than the names who were once there.  "Now, who is that," I might whisper to Guy as if he might know.  He looks at me like, "You think I know."  I could honestly have moved to a new town and be no worse off because all of a sudden I am a stranger in my own hometown.