Confronting the Protesters

“They’re monsters and you’re treating them like royalty. What about the real people you’re ignoring? Why are they getting special treatment? They brought this trouble onto the people of this city. They should pay for this. Kick them out of the country.” He couldn’t have been a day under sixty years old. The intolerance dripped off him like an oily sludge. He was the type of person who made up their minds with only a slight understanding of a few facts. Then right or wrong he’d come to his conclusions and stick to them.

His slate grey hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a long while. It stuck out in several places at awkward angles.

Malcolm watched him marvelling at how this man thought he would be considered credible to the general public. He looked like he was homeless and down on his luck. Yes, his clothes were, but he must have slept for several days in or near the protest lines.

“You’ve got nothing to say, because you know I’m right. Send them back to their home p