Starting in late July pro-Trump gatherings have been happening on Saturday afternoons at Beverly Gardens Park (Santa Monica Blvd. between Beverly and Canon). I knew something was up when I saw a cluster of American flags from a block away. Then I got a bit closer and saw the banners and MAGA hats.

I looked over while idling at the Beverly Drive stoplight, muttering “Jesus” under my breath. One of the lunatics (a tallish 30something guy in red shorts) caught my eye and shouted eagerly, “Hey, man…are you with Trump?” I frowned, shook my head, thumbs-down gesture. “Why not?”, he said. If I’d been a person of character and consequence I might have said, “Because he’s a sociopathic criminal moron who caused the needless deaths of tens of thousands by lying about Covid.” But I just scowled and waited for the light to change.

“Really, why not?”, he asked again. I said,”I’m not gonna engage with you.” Because really, what’s the point? A couple of other red-hat guys pointed at my Bernie16 and Pete Buttigieg bumper stickers and chortled a bit (“Whoa, a libtard”). The light turned green and I drove off.

It was eerie talking with actual live specimens. It might have been my imagination but I was sensing something beastly about them — some kind of mad gleam in their eyes. The last time I’d spoken with a Trumpster was at Burbank Airport about four years ago, on my way to Telluride ‘16.