The unwashed anarchists with their street theatre protests are kept at bay by cops shouting orders.'Non-lethal' pepper spray and tazers remind the angry crowd who is in charge, who is on the payroll.
Middle America gathers impotent and boring on legislative lawns, Greek columns stand witness to their tired cries of 'NO MORE WAR'. No one is listening; it's Sunday and the only people in the building are cleaning carpets on minimum wage.
Many people are mad at the Repubicans. Some are just plain mad. The Westboro Baptist Church stand in a clump preaching their hilarious parody of medieval morality.
Fences and clones with earpieces welcome us into sanctuary where security scans for bombs and sharp shouts remind us that though we have press passes, no one is really welcome but the GOP at the RNC.
Starbucks quenches my thirst. I think of the anarchists whose cheerful song had me dancing in the streets. What would they think of me now as I sip my $5 iced tea, inside the lines?
As we leave, police wrestle boys from bicycles as the order goes out: no more disorder. The angry people must be stopped. Journalists arrested, I keep my distance. I fly to Canada tomorrow and I don't want to miss my flight.
