I recall a march that began for me at a subway platform uptown, where I waited to get on a train to the event.
An elderly woman stood next to me, carrying a handmade sign that read,
No dictators/no kings. When asked about it, she replied,
I would have called Trump a cunt, but he lacks the depth and warmth.
I finally made it off the subway train with hundreds of other protesters and slowly made my way up the packed stairs onto Seventh Avenue at the edge of New York's Times Square.
Author's summary: A personal account of a march against dictators and kings.