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  • Hungry. So hungry.

    I should have stopped to eat on the way. Grabbed a granola bar, a Kit-Kat, something.

    The restaurants near the convention center called out to me. Literally. People near the doors asked how I was doing, and while I murmured polite replies, I kept walking. I didn't want to stop.

    A 7-Eleven popped into view and I considered it briefly but kept going.

    "If there's something on this side of the street," I told myself. "I will stop there."

    I kept going.

    To the doors and beyond. Past the man in the papier mache head. Past the young ones. The old ones. The ones who had been waiting for hours. I kept walking.

    The line wound its way toward the Marriott, down the side, and around the back along the water toward a park, and then, we found the end. I found the end. After 10 minutes of walking the line, I found a place to sit and wait (two and a half hours) for the doors to open plus two and a half hours more to get in.

    People kept coming. And coming. And coming.

    Old and young. In shorts, dresses, and jeans. A boy in a bowtie who tried to rile the crowd. A couple of schoolgirls in white Converse climbed a tree. People waited for hours and left when volunteers told us "no bags" would be allowed.

    I got in with a bag.

    Some people left to get food. Some people waited. Still more people came. People with petitions. People selling pins and t-shirts. Mostly, people who joined the still-growing line.

    I sat on a curb in the sun, hungry and tired, to watch the world around me. I reading t-shirts and hats, buttons and signs.

    The more people that came, the louder conversation grew, colored by excitement, and the line scrunched closer together. People jumped the line, cutting in with people they didn't know, and after hours together, we recognized our own places in line. We recognized the ones who cut, but nobody said anything. Most people keep walking and walking and walking to get to the end.

    I texted a request for food when he came. I texted again to ask for the people around me. I offered my sweatshirt to a girl who was cold. I sat on a curb next to a girl with a doll. We sat there for hours.

    Then, the line moved. Slowly, slowly. Step by step. And then, the night truly began. Then, we started feeling the Bern.
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