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 standing next to me carried 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 eventually made my way off the subway train with hundreds of other protesters and onto a packed Seventh Avenue at the edge of New York's Times Square.
Author's summary: A personal account of a march in New York City.