14th and 6th, waiting for the light to change. Scruffy, lanky white guy in his forties scoffs at my sign: "Like Hilary didn't lie? Please."

People have stopped crying when we talk. I think mid-month might have been the last one: a guy in his twenties, longish red hair, polar fleece hat. I was leaning against the door on the downtown 2/3, he was holding the bar above the guy sitting to my left.

There are two cities in New York City: Have City and Ass Busting Town. I’m from Have City, where the women walk around in yoga pants all day and the men “pull down” big incomes. But every day I walk through Ass Busting Town.

This sign-carrying has all been a selfish act. An attempt to turn my depression and hopelessness into anger and action.

I had what I thought was a meeting, which turned out to be a “social lunch,” and I was freaking out the whole time because talking without an agenda with strangers is precarious.