But first:
THE UNITED STATES IS THE ONLY WESTERN NATION THAT STILL INFLICTS THE DEATH PENALTY UPON ITS CITIZENS....
Surprise for the host: his ex-wife shows up with their son.
"Well, hello! Look who dragged down here in the heat!""Hi, D! Thought we'd come by to visit."
"Hi, Dad."
Introduces them to the cop in the tent. Adds, "She's on the City Attorney's special prosecution team, standing by in case of any mass arrests."
"Oh, really? I heard about that. So you work with...?"
Name.
"Oh yeah." Smiles.
Son stands quietly, looking around the site, half-listening to Mom and the cop, half listening to Amnesty's loudspeakered tales of international torture and imprisonment. Two more years and he'll be voting age.
"So, you guys expecting any problems here?"
"Nah - and if we have any, we'll just throw Danial, here, at 'em."
"Heh heh."
"There is one group we're worried about... they got attacked by communists last year up in L.A."
"What about Operation Rescue?"
Leans forward onto the table, "Yeah. They're definitely giving us a hard time. Sometimes we have to use the nunchucks to restrain 'em when they cross that line and we're ordered to physically remove them. But they're not coming down here, much. Mostly hitting outlying areas, clinics and like that."
"But we'll still have to prosecute whomever you guys bring in. The presiding judge was all in arms about getting ready to handle large arrests. The City's even re-opened the Otay Mesa jail."
"Yeah, I heard that."
"Hey, how'd that sit-in at Mayor Golding's office work out?"
Laughs, "The mayor came out and said she had to go, but they could just sit in her lobby as long as they wanted."
Now it's the host's turn to laugh. He remembers many times seeing intense visitors who cooled their heels up there on the eleventh floor, outside the locked door, in front of the two receptionists. "Yeah," host quickly says, "until they get hungry."
Smiles. Cop tilts his smokey-bear hat, "That's about how it worked out, too."
Ex glances at son, who's shifting on his feet. "Well, we are headed over to India Street, to catch the Sicilian Festival."
"Mmmm, sounds delicious."
As they leave, host calls after his son, "Hey, Dude, come back tomorrow or the next day - we'll go to lunch."
Son smiles that handsome young grin, and for an instant, host can feel that invisible, striking bond... "Okay, Dad."And they are gone.
Amnesty has a small crowd, maybe thirty people. Their final minutes of torture prisoners pass away. A breath of cool air, the breeze is finally beginning to feel equal against the hot afternoon sun... IF you don't go out of the shade, that is.
I don't know how they can stand it out there in the burning light - the host thinks to himself, watching the scattered people huddling under stumpy trees, or sweating it under the raw sun.
Where are our famous low clouds? Where is the natural air conditioning of the coast, the pesky marine layer with its drifting fog and scud?
- I'm melting, melting... who would have thought that a good little star/sun like you could have destroyed all of my cool, wet, wickedness.... -"Hello? Is this where we sign in?"
"Oh, yes, sorry, I was daydreaming."
"You write while you daydream...?"
"Well, yes, but... you must be the next group...?"
"Right. Coalition Against Drugs."
Need ice, he thinks, after doing his one chief duty.
Need caffeine. "Yo, Martin?"
"Si, Daniel?""Tengo que comprarme un cafecito nevado. Can you watch the table for a while?"
"Si, hombre. You got the next group signed in?"
"Yeah. I'll tell the Sarge before I go."
"Wait - don't bother, isn't that them he's already talking with there, under the tree by the handicapped walk?"
"Oh yeah. Well, if you need me, I'll be across the street in Mekka Java."
"Brother, take your time. Ain't nothin' going to happen here. Not today, anyhow."