I wrote a detailed 9 page essay on the experiences I had leading up to the trip, the trip itself and its lengthy aftermath of exile. Here are some excerpts from the story:
I wanted to see some of Washington before I went to the rally. I didn’t think I’d get too close to the rally, anyway. I was dressed in what I thought was an innocuous rock and roll outfit, leather and lace, trying to imitate the Stones. But at this point in history, the Stones are too dangerous. Even I felt that as I put on the clothes, the leather vest I got at Trash and Vaudeville, the jewelry from Chico’s, and the leather jacket. I stuck out. No shrinking violet.
I ended up at the “VIP Tent” of “The Rave” of the rally, where I was given a wrist band and encouraged to partake of consumer goods (which now, in the light of day, I see were sponsors of the rally).
But I wasn’t a sponsor of the rally. I was unwittingly enrolled as its "colorful character", a role I didn’t know I was playing and it was extremely taxing. After absorbing some more negative energy from the crowd even within the “VIP Area” while trying to dance to some great bands, I wandered off to try to find Union Station and get the hell back to NY. I already missed my 8pm train and had no hotel room. No one could or would help me. I approached many people on the street. It wasn’t funny anymore.
Needless to say, I was poorly treated and very frightened. The rest of the essay will be available soon. To whomever let me go “viral” and spread rumors about my “nastiness”, there is a special place reserved for you and it’s not in the skybox at Yankee Stadium.