Jorge drives me to the red line in china town, telling me about January fifteenth when he walked the 11 miles to Hyde Park to protest immigration reform for Obama. It was 1 degree that day.
He invited me to his organization tomorrow. Four pm is when the lawyers come, six pm is a kids program.
I’ll see you soon, I say. I walk to a park in China Town and sit by a big plant container. My view: a mural and the highway. Sun on my back, sitting on the ground, smell of piss saturates my nose. It’s gross but it feels good to be outside and good to tell this story, so carefully entrusted to me. My fingers fly on the key board.
word pictures are powerful anecdotes.
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