I have gotten the opportunity to cover a pile of protests and marches in the past two years, and tomorrow I get to cover another. For someone who grew up in the 1960s and 70s and never once went to a protest, this is quite the turn of events for me.
I don’t march. I don’t chant. I don’t hold a sign. But I stand there with my bike when you pass and I take photos (I’m not allowed to say shoot photos anymore because the word shoot is a trigger, so to speak, to someone I love), and I bear witness. And that’s apparently my job as a member of humanity right now.
I would like some cake, however, please.
Traveling at the Speed of Bike 