Do you still remember June? Do you remember how we were back then? I’ll give you some clues: the air, thick with barbecue smoke and cold with winter; the chattering of the crowd, euphoric and restless; your backpack, green; my backpack, red. The colors are a hint of what’s to come. Another refresher: we were midway through our three buses from work to home and got off in front of the terminus downtown, where everyone was gathering.
“Another protest?” you asked. “Like yesterday’s?”
Think carefully now. Yes, another protest, but we had not been notified of this one. No one in my classes knew; no one talked about it online. Street vendors piled in front of the terminus, offering all kinds of products: strips of roasted meat, popcorn, green and yellow vuvuzelas, knockoff football shirts.
“We should stay,” you told me.