By Declan Leary, The American Conservative
It’s all but silent as I step out onto 17th Street just past noon, a small gaggle of flag-waving MAGA folk to my left the only other people in sight. It’s warm enough to walk, so I make off for the Capitol on foot. At Black Lives Matter Plaza I pass a group of activists all in black—a dozen or so, with one not much older than me holding court as the rest listen faithfully and something that might be reggae blares over a single, high-powered speaker in the middle of the street.
At 14th Street a homeless man is screaming at the glass door of a boarded-up Five Guys, in one of those already-puzzling city dialects made incomprehensible by drugs or mental illness. I’m not sure what he’s saying, but I do make out “There aren’t five of you anymore, are there?”