Kumbaya, Kids
With all the rain lately, I haven’t been able to channel my upset and anxiety into singing and talking to people, and it is not good. Even when I’ve been able to carry the sign for short stints, I feel harried and shaky, and I can’t sing when I’m trembling. I haven’t been able to give as much, so I’m not getting as much back from people, and I didn’t know how much I’ve been relying on that exchange until it wasn’t there.
So I’m not feeling great, as I’m walking back to the office after lunch. I’m not singing, and I have the sign in Safe Mode, tucked under my arm instead of proudly displayed. Still legible, though. A driver waiting in an idling car tilts his head to read it. I give him a better angle as I pass. No reaction.
On the subway later, I am approached by a guy who tells me the real agenda of the current kleptocracy is to extract all the Earth’s minerals for use in intergalactic travel. “They’re gonna drain this planet so they can get off it.”
I nod and thank him sincerely for talking to me. At this point, his theory’s not even that farfetched.
Four tween boys on the subway platform. One says as I pass, “That sign doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t?” I stop and look at it. “What part?”
“All of it.”
His friend asks, “Is that about Donald Trump?”
“It most certainly is.”
The friend takes the sign from my hands, holds it aloft over his head and yells, “I fuckin’ hate Donald Trump!” He hands it back to me.
“Oh,” says the first kid. “Now it makes sense.”
Subway uptown: An older guy with a trucker hat and an Applebee’s fleece gives me significant looks. Ordinarily I’d strike up my tune but I don’t have the energy today. Two weeks ago, I sang at a guy all the way from 14th to 72nd. Today I’m just quietly holding my sign.
Downtown, another group of tween boys on the subway platform. One sees me coming and hollers, “Impeach Donald Trump, hell yeah!”
I slow down to see if they want to talk. The kid hollers again, “Donald Trump can suck my dick!” He bucks his hips and makes a jerking off motion.
Okay, then. “You said it better than I could,” I say, and I keep moving.
(To read Kumbaya, Motherfucker in chronological order, click here.)