"You may look like a partisan in that coat," she said, "but you certainly don't keep mum like a partisan would."
There is bustle over sriracha, as we are leaving. Should we take the near-empty bottle, or the half-empty one? We take both. But in the end, we eat our ramen without.
We are late to hear Anthony Braxton at the Kennedy Center. The usher shines her light in our face like a copper, and tricks us into Row U when we have tickets for A.
I mean well, but I doze off like a bird: my head tucked between my partisan shoulders. And dream of the steppes.