No Kings
On the way up 7th from the west village, a man whose jaw stuck way out said, “I like being abused.” His lower teeth prominent like tombstones on a shelf, the opposite of buck. His friend nodded. On the way back, at the same spot, a woman behind me said, “Where do you even keep a horse in New York?” And in between these golden nuggets, hundreds of thousands of people, banners held high, marched in protest of a pretender, while across the pond a Duke was beheaded of title. This is today. I have landed in New York.
I love a protest march, and if you’re wondering if they work, it’s cumulative…
The skinny
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