Rage, Thy Neighbor

The fury in this country is palpable. It boils over somewhere every day. On this day, it jumped out of a pickup and threatened a kid right in front of me.

This is us now?

Enjoying some sunshine for a change from the grey blanket we’ve been under for the most of the past couple of months. Minding my own business. Feeling pretty doggone good. Out with the dogs for our mid-day constitutional in our South Fargo, N.D., neighborhood.

All of a sudden a pickup screeches to a halt on the street parallel to the sidewalk we’re on, or screeches as much as is possible on the black ice that doubles for pavement in our winters.

Door flies open and a man jumps out.

He’s about 5-foot-4 to 5-foot-6 with straight white hair combed straight down on his forehead. Caucasian. Glasses. Wiry. Looks to go about 150-160 pounds. Wearing a light colored jacket. I don’t register all of this at first, though. I just see, out of the corner of my left eye, a white flash rush out and start stalking toward the back of the truck.

The white blur starts shouting and pointing.

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