On the eve of Election Day, 2016, I was run over by a Nissan while crossing the street. The next day, the entire country was run over by a big, orange bus.
Two years later, I’m mostly healed. The country, however, just keeps moving deeper into an intensive care unit staffed with butchers.
Small wounds are being wrenched open; broken legs are treated with hammers. Infections are encouraged to spread their filth. And the big orange bus keeps careening down whatever road meets its need of the moment, running down anyone bold enough to cross its path.