Back when you'd've thought all these politicians just can't stop running. Endless campaign promises...join us and you will get...
In parking lots all over the United States increasingly grumpy middle agers guffawed at a more democratic approach "to MY dollar.". Even husbands and wives dipped into bartering as a patch for American goods and services in the hold out against socialism and a global corporate ruining a lowly person's freedom to wake up and make an honest dollar.
"And we don't want your drugs," more and more young people were literally, non-violently making change. Even though it was more like a rehearsal in the summer months, it made us stronger come back to school. The taller of us three girls scrunched up her face and mussed up her hair and wagged her tongue, turned her finger around and around near her temple. "That's what drugs do to people!" Another of us interpreted. We moved quietly past the older peoples' cars. They went to sleep early. They spent most of the day dialing down what had happened.
What had happened to so-and-so; what had happened to family; what had happened to bodies that did and didn't look the same as they used to; what had happened to the world that was definitely not the same. One older woman cried and cried. Her daughter repeatedly said, "That is not your job. Think of your heart." But the woman wetted another whole tank top at how sad it was. "She's mourning," her daughter told the woman's prospective new boyfriend. He would come once a day bringing a small plastic flower, a sweet little teddy bear, one day a pen and stationary paper. At that, the older woman cracked her window covered in a brown and black silky scarf, and you could hear her blow her nose and ask, "He want me to write to him?" He hadn't walked far and he looked at the daughter and nodded emphatically. "Yes mama. He wants a letter! Can you do that, please?"
"I'll try." The window was put back up and gentle wrinkling fingers straightened the scarf.
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