Erin scanned stations at the gym while I constantly refreshed google with a glass of rye in one hand and my phone in the other (texting like a mad, rye-drinking asshole!). After Erin got home, the votes came in, and when we heard fireworks, we yelled "FUCK YEAH!!" in tandem. Then I took the dog out.
The screams could be heard from blocks and blocks away. Brian called to say Liberty St. was full of people. Hoots, hollers, drums, and car horns became louder (and LOUDER) as we got closer to downtown. Chacho and I booked to Main St. to catch the procession and ran into friends in front of a cafe. Erin called me after I texted her about the crowd and I told her to come down as a bunch of people moved inside to catch his speech.
Erin watched the first half on her computer, and rode quickly downtown and right in through the front door of the cafe to catch the second half. Chacho barked along with the cheering crowd, and Erin & I kissed just outside the doors afterward. On the way home, we talked about all sorts of things; surprises, hope, history, Jesse Jackson (man, how does he feel?), and so on and so forth.
Back at home, I thought of Tim Russert and Stan Brakhage. And how strange it is to be a part of this generation -- as it must have been to have been a part of past generations, moving backward, twenty years or so at a time -- all these "last generations."
I feel more confident about this world, more so than I did four years ago to the day, waking up to an incredibly grey, excruciatingly dreary day. November 5th, literally, looks to be beautiful, sunny and 69.
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