by Lupin Pooter
“On average,” he said.
“So what about the protest?” she asked.
“Yah, I'll be there,” he said.
She hung up the phone. $5 K a day. If that's how much theirs was rising, think of the zillionaires. How many people would keep protesting as their 401k's and investments continued to balloon? Or maybe others wouldn't experience the kind of bounce they were experiencing. But she guessed most people were like them, heavily invested in oil and all of its many byproducts.
When she met Peter at the protest, he looked like he had been drinking. “I heard he's nominating Mitt Romney for Secretary of State, so that's an improvement over some of his other picks,” he said. “Plus we got the biggest jump in subscribers ever today, and the stats on all the Trump posts are through the roof.”
“So is this where we're headed,” she said. “Feeling good about a Trump presidency because it suits our business interests?”
“I'm not feeling good about a Trump presidency,” he said. “I'm just giving you a status update, like I usually do.”
She breathed in the unseasonably warm November air, tried to exhale without sighing.Later they would make love as soon as they got home, suddenly and without protection. She lay clinging to his chest afterward, afraid like never before. “Sometimes things just happen,” he said, and got up to walk the dog.