Shouting while we wait

We hadn’t taken to the streets before, mostly shrugged and wrote strongly worded e-mails. To protest seemed the old college experience, the professor’s glory years. But there we were, holding signs, emptying out our lungs. The smoke and mirrors had become too common; decided it was time to shout.

No answers until March about the Olympics, the budget, Afghan detainees? Not again, not on our watch, our dime: no. The second time the joke’s on us, we said, marched with the masses.

Though the chants won’t be answered, the footsteps were recorded. The street shut down, the cameras clicked, the local Internet was abuzz. The revolution was re-Tweeted, added to information from other cities. I fell asleep the student stereotype, woke with soar lungs.