When Lives are Taken, as in the Waffle House Killings, the Damage Lasts for Years.

I’ve eaten many pecan waffles or scrambled eggs with crisp, brown shredded hash browns at Waffle Houses during the 17 years I lived in Nashville. Never once did I think I had to look up from the Formica table in the booth of the red Naugahyde cushions to glance around for an automatic weapon.