November 8, 2018. New York City.
The city was alive and the sun was shining. People proudly walked down the street wearing badges declaring “I Voted” and “I’m With Her”. The city was confident and excited about a Hillary victory. No other result made sense. But as evening fell and votes were tallied, the excitement and hope began to fade, before extinguishing completely.
On the morning of November 9 the city was in shock. As I walked down 23rd street I noticed people crying. On the bus, more of the same. As I walked past people they’d smile and nod, not a typical occurrence in the city. It was a though people needed to reassure one another that it’s going to be okay.
I saw a Broadway show in the afternoon, and at curtain the cast bowed, and tearfully thanked the audience for coming today, of all days. Later in the evening the protests began. Police filled the streets with riffles and riot gear, preparing for the worst.
On my way home I sat next to a 92 year old on the bus. She told me that she was devastated, that her heart broke for Hillary. She teared up as she talked about how qualified Hillary was, and how much she deserved to win. And how excited she’d been that she’d lived to see the first female president. Now, she said, that hope was dashed.