The Woman, The Mob, The Provocateur and, Maybe, the Kids

The pudgy, middle-age woman
flipped the bird over and over
again at the journalist who was

just doing his job reporting the
news. He stood alone, mike in
hand. She was surrounded by

jeering, leering, jostling, hassl-
ing fellow mobsters. It’s a good
thing the journalist was on a

platform with a railing separating
him from the mob or who knows
what they may have done. Earlier

in the evening, the woman fixed
dinner for her family, they prayed
before eating and she admonished

her teens to behave themselves
that evening at the movie and to
be home by curfew. Who knows if

the woman did any of that earl-
ier in the evening before the
raucous rally but she spewed

epithets and angrily thrust the
middle-finger over and over and
over again at the guy who was

just doing his job behind the mob,
behind the stage where stood
the sneering, hate-instigating

provocateur. If the woman had
children, one could only hope
they were, indeed, at the

movie and not watching mom
on TV. Ah, but there is always
the news and ubiquitous You-tube.

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