For many along the Gulf Coast only a few short weeks ago, the passage of time might understandably come to be rendered as "before Katrina" and "after Katrina." But not so for Matt Dillon.

Dillon sat on a bench in front of the Microtel Inn in Union City Tuesday afternoon, his cell phone glued to his ear. Minutes later in the hotel lobby, the upbeat businessman spoke about the chaos that brought him to Atlanta, the efforts to bring stability to his life and that of others and the positive future ready to be forged.

Until Katrina hit, Dillon and his girlfriend owned businesses in New Orleans. He owned a property business and worked as a producer in the music and film industry and she owned a day spa. Both businesses were in east New Orleans. Both are gone.

"Both of those businesses are no more," Dillon said resolutely. "Now they are under 20 feet of water."

Like so many along the Gulf Coast areas of Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi, Dillon made the decision to evacuate before Hurricane Katrina slammed onto the shore. His decision to flee the wrath of Katrina paid off.

"The smartest thing for us to do was to get out before it hit. So we went east and we went early," Dillon explained. "We left New Orleans on Sunday at 5 a.m. We first went to Mobile but a mandatory evacuation was ordered so we went to Ft. Walton Beach and stayed there two or three days but we started running out of money and resources. Then we decided to go to Atlanta."

Though he left the Big Easy before Katrina hit, Dillon said he has spoken with friends that stayed behind. He spoke about their description of what had become of their city, things they had heard of, things they had seen, things horrific, things full of sorrow. As he recalled those events, that moment marked the only time during the conversation in the Microtel lobby when Dillon was not upbeat.

"It's just chaos, man. It's really, you know, it's something where your worst fears are coming true," Dillon said, eyes fixed forward as he stared into nowhere, the emotion in his voice and on his face unmistakable. "Stepping over dead bodies, seeing, uh, sharks and alligators eating your friends. People being raped, seeing people being beat up and killed, seeing people commit suicide and seeing people drown or starve to death."

"But there are also stories of hope, you know," Dillon continued, the light returning to his eyes. "People swimming six or seven blocks in alligator-infested water, people finding boats and rescuing other people and taking them to shelters or getting them away from all the chaos that is now New Orleans. And the stories continue because not everybody is out of there. And with sickness and disease descending on New Orleans it's in worse condition that it has been in recent days."

Now transplanted to the Atlanta area, Dillon decided to take care of his own needs and those of others that found themselves and their families in harm's way. For him, it is a mission based on the desire to share proactive communication and help expedite the funneling of resources.

"In New Orleans I knew a tremendous number of people. That goes