As I said last time, today we will briefly discuss the Bernie Sanders man.
He was old. He looked homeless. He was wearing a tattered, dirty Occupy Wall Street shirt that talked about helping the 99%. He marched up and down the streets of the parade until it began, blowing hard into his whistle in order to pierce the ears and grab the attention of everyone within a 1000 foot radius. He carried a sign, but I don’t remember what it said. Something about Hillary and how awful she is. Can’t say I disagree.
While the lady beside me was surprised the police let him go, I was not. Peaceful protesting protected under our constitution meant everything happening was perfectly all right (albeit totally abnormal).
He made his way past where my sister and I were standing, continuing down the road until finally out of sight. He wasn’t wearing any Sanders gear whatsoever, but it was obvious that that’s who he supported — unless Trump accidentally hit his head too hard and forgot entirely who he was.
This protestor man was so typical and so very New York that I almost instantly forgot him. He remained out of my mind until about an hour later when he finally came marching back, this time sticking in my mind forever.
No, he didn’t fall. He didn’t start chanting something absolutely abhorrent and awful. He didn’t turn to an old lady in the crowd and start beating her up. He simply continued walking and blowing his whistle, waving his sign around for the crowd to see. And as they did, they started cheering, clapping, yeah-ing, calling out his name.
Wait. His name? They — the crowd knew his name??
Yup. The crowd knew his name, which meant that this guy was kind of a local celebrity.
It’s funny, the people you’ll see in life and how, every day, they’ll never fail to surprise you.
That is all. Can’t wait to continue this later.