The latest government reports are supposed to be the main authority on the economy, but sometimes, there are more telling indicators.

There were already hundreds in line for lunch by 11 a.m. last week when I arrived at Amos House, the state’s biggest soup kitchen. It’s on the South Side of Providence. I had heard business there has doubled in the past few years.

They serve breakfast and lunch, and Eileen Hayes, the executive director said they will soon be offering 1,000 meals a day. A decade ago, almost everyone here was homeless. Now it’s only half.

The dining hall, which seats 90, was full, with tables turning over quickly to make room for more.

The first person I approached was Annette Joseph, 52. She said she had worked most of her adult life as an administrative assistant, including many years at Brown University’s department of Cognitive and Linguistic Sciences. She is now on disability insurance for osteoarthritis and degenerative disc disease.

I asked what brought her here.

She said her benefits went down in August — she even showed me a notice in her purse with the news. And her rent has gone up to $225 a week.

As a result, she began coming here last month. This, she explained is part of how she keeps her apartment. She said it’s a struggle. She said, “I’ve never been so scared before in my life.”

I moved on to Cynthia Colon, 48, who was there with her grandson Hassan, 4. She helps Hassan’s dad look after him. Cynthia is also on disability, and said it has never been harder to make it on a fixed income.

Patty Ault, 50, was nearby with her son Antone Santos, 13. She has a younger boy, 8, also at home, and she is trying to support the two on her own.

She said she is unable to get child support. She is fighting lupus, but cleans houses when she finds the work.

“I don’t want to go on welfare,” said Patty.

She is grateful to Amos House, but wishes she didn’t have to come. She said she has no choice.

“No matter how I budget,” she said, “how many meals I make of rice and beans, I run out. I was managing until recently, but it’s getting really hard.” Basic items, she said, are just more expensive. The past few days, she said, “I have nothing in the house.”

Other people sat at our table as diners moved in and out.

While still married, Patty lived in a raised ranch, then downsized to a three-bedroom apartment, and is now in a one-bedroom. She said it’s in a difficult neighborhood. By dusk, she locks her doors and does not let her children out until morning.

“But they’re warm,” she said.

Then, she added, “I’ve never not been able to feed my kids. Never.”

I stopped by one more table. Tonya Williams, who gave her age at 40ish, said she lost a job in shipping and receiving, and then lost her apartment, and is living at the women’s shelter at Crossroads Rhode Island.

She now does occasional temp work, but has been unable to find a steady job.

“I put applications in,” she said. But many others do, too, and she often doesn’t hear back. She thinks one reason is that she left school in the 10th grade, and employers prefer those who have graduated. She is working on her GED.

This is the first time she’s been homeless. She has family, but they are struggling, too, and she doesn’t want to impose on them. Her hope is to get into the Amos House culinary training program.

“I’m praying,” said Tonya.

Around us, they were cleaning tables to get ready for the next meal the following morning, so it was time to go.

Journalists like dramatic points, and I wanted to say the economy has driven people from stable situations yesterday to soup kitchens today. That would be overstating it.

The truth is that soup kitchens tend to draw hard luck cases, folks who can’t work or don’t want to.

But there are fewer nets for them than there used to be.

And there are indeed now folks at Amos House who do work or wish they could.

And there are more of them every week.

mpatinkin@projo.com