Marching on Washington
So I’m getting ready to travel down to Washington, DC for the Women’s March, and my mother is shaking her head. “Why are you going to all this trouble?” she inquired. “What good will it do? Trump’s not going to run in terror when he sees you girls coming, you know.” I rolled my eyes, but you know, she kind of had a point. “Why am I doing this?” I asked myself frequently during the seven-hour drive on crowded highways. “What’s the point?” I sighed as I checked into the overpriced motel. “Is it worth it?” I asked as I jammed myself onto a subway car packed like a sardine tin, the...
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