Cars horns honked. Fog hung in the air. Signs waved. Speeches droned.

The crowd moved like a singular organism growing and shrinking. People argued, yelled, postured. It was like high school, only more pretentious. I stood in the middle of it all. Yardstick taped to cardboard sign with hasty permanent marker that spoke “Freedon!”. Not that I knew a “Don” or that I was by any means illiterate. It was just that the cardboard had run out before my message. The “M” was there, but it was quiet squashed.

“…and by this we know that Congress has lost all touch with the people they are supposed…”

The woman who was speaking looked familiar. She probably was. Perhaps that is why her words rang so hollow; why they were so easy to ignore. Who was she to represent me? Who were they? At what point had I agreed that she could speak my ideas? It was a literal choice between two impossibilities. Everyone was the underdog, everyone the majority.