"There's a blind spot on the edge of seventeen," Annie intoned with a sigh. She emptied her wineglass as I waited for her to continue. "A child on that razor edge wants to be treated as an adult but doesn't shoulder any adult responsibilities."
"Yes," Lynda agreed, "That's exactly right."
"It's rather like have a boss who always takes credit for your work and doesn't even fathom why you are continually pissed off. Or just pissed," Annie said, finishing her second glass in as many minutes.
"You know, if passing out drunk is your aim, I do have some whiskey in the house," Lynda offered.
"No, no," Annie replied. "Sorry, just stressed. Always stressed. I'm a perpetual stress machine."
Both women watched the river of protestors pass down below. "We should join them..." Annie began.
"Just a sec...putting my protesting shoes on."
"I wear mine all the time now -- went to a New Year's Eve party in Reeboks and a sequined mini-dress. Post-Trump American fashion statement."
"Where will the protest be tomorrow?"
"Santa Barbara. Too far to go without a car and parking is a bitch anyway; but, the Government Center here is the day after."
"Oh goodie! I've made new signs," Annie said. "Trump tweets about professional protestors -- where do we go to get hired? I've done enough amateur protesting."
"Maybe email Buzzfeed, Mother Jones, or Democracy Now? While they're still in business."
"Maybe," Annie mused as they joined the throng.
