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I went to the drug store on an errand and saw her: A very obvious member of a riot cadre. Well-polished Doc Martens, all black clothes, a red rat tattoo on her arm, and she told the store clerk the rat tattoo signified that life is a rat race. When she left, the store clerk and manager both gasped and told me that she scared them. She was alone and not really big enough to personally scare me, but there’s no doubt in my mind what she is.
I remember back in 1999 or so, a lady moved into the apartment below mine. She was a transplant from California’s Bay Area. She introduced me to her daughter, who over the course of several months bragged how she was in a movement. She emphasized their discipline. She lamented that the new ones didn’t understand the discipline of shining their boots and wearing their clothes properly. She bragged how they had burned an animal testing lab in California and other acts I can’t recall today. She gave enough detail to convince me her tales were true. She was a naive fool, clinging to belong to something.
The young lady I saw today wasn’t as brainless as my neighbor’s daughter, she was pretty intense. She had all the “discipline” that I had been told about.
Anyone not seeing that these riots have nothing to do with race is being willfully blind, or a useful tool.
I just wish I had the presence of mind to take a photo of her.Published in