The morning after

Last night we left the party early to escape mounting group anxiety, but we couldn't sleep. At dawn Sue proposed we walk to the Mississippi River, so we did, encountering a dozen or so homeless and silent men. We were on hand when a coffee shop opened, and the first person we spoke to was a white man, gloating that his man won. Sue exploded at him, he backed away, and the young white woman barista made eye contact with Sue and said, "I wore black for mourning today."

After we sat and wept and stared vacantly at the river for an hour or so, we went to the public toilets, sobbing out loud, where a kind-hearted black woman watched over us protectively and told us, "Everybody awake this mornin, askin ourselves, can it be true? I want to know where was all the Black people who shoulda voted. This was a very important election. Now all we can do is pray."
A homeless white woman entered to make her ablutions and was concerned for Sue.
"Are you alright, darlin?"
"No," Sue answered .
"Anything I can do for you?"
Sue just shook her head.
I said, "The election."
She nodded, "Whole lotta people cryin this mawnin. Them that ain't dead-drunk is wipin they tears. Dangerous times ahead."

At a store we stood in line behind a middle-aged Black security guard. He asked how I was doing. "Terrible," I answered truthfully. "I feel like I want to lie flat out on the floor, I'm so depressed."

"You right about that," he nodded sympathetically. "It's not just the man, which is bad enough, but it's the effects of this election. We will be feeling this for years to come. He's going to try to wipe out a whole lot of us before he's done."