Here’s what happened, as the Yankees say.
After the Washington Square rally, yers truly got himself a slice of down-home NYC Ben’s pizza. And after restin’ my sore dandies for a spell, the crowd started a cryin’ and I know the song was marching.
My heart said, ‘you old classical composer cowpoke, time to get!”
There’s a sayin’ where I come from. A man’s gun is his heart, and flowers are his soul. But the truth is, what livens up a man is the passion of his fellow man (or woman, as the time dictates). And there was passion a plenty to be found.
I hear there was 6,000 to 20,000 folks marching for economic equality. Hooting. Hollering. Sometimes both. And marching. Yessir, marching. Trouble was, the men in blue were right beside us.
Now I don’t have a problem with the po-lice, per se. They’re part of the 99% too, after all. And these were a nice enough bunch, but there sure were a lot of them. But at 35th street, the police tried a maneuver on us protestors, and split us into two groups, di-ver-tin’ us to two sides of the street. And I ain’t talking Wall Street and Main street.
Fer awhile, all was well and good. But then the people started to get restless, shouting, “Let us cross.” At one point, a young boy with Spring still in his eyes tried to cross and the police grabbed him. “Let him go,” we call shouted, and sure enough, the blue men did.
But nearin’ 42nd street and Broadway, we realized that we had to cross if we were gonna reach Times Square. So we started shoutin’ again. And just when this ol’ Cowpoke thought violence might rear its ugly head, on 46th we got to cross and marched towards Times Square.
Was it a sight!
Folks were hollering, “Whose street? Our street,” and “take the square.” And the crowd headed full force towards those perty neon lights. I tell ya. This de-mo-cra-cy’s a messy thing, but darned if it isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world. Until next adventure, fellow cowpokes! Giddy up!