“You know, it ain’t right. How Pelosi can just tell the President what to do. She’s elected by 250,000 people and the President was elected by 64 million.”

“Thank goodness for the Electoral College. The most perfect stroke of genius ever devised in the Constitution.”

“You know, there’s style and then there’s substance to a President. I have to admit, Obama really had some style. He was smooth, looked good in a suit, and held his head up high. But he had no substance. That’s why I love Donald. He doesn’t kick the can down the road. His style may be crude, but he’s all substance. He’s done so much for this country, that he can fuck all the hoes he wants as far as I’m concerned.”

I’ve accidentally stumbled upon the Wednesday morning meeting of the local RNC old boys chapter at the coffee shop. They’re worried about what happens if someone like Bernie or Warren get the primary. And in the same breath of being worried, they claim the Dems will be shooting themselves in the foot if either get the nod. Why worry about assured destruction? It tells me what they fear the most.

I’ve stopped reading about American politics since the 2016 Election. I’ve withdrawn. The landscape is intentionally muddled by the Fox News and Huff Posts of the world, twisting facts to fit the narrative of their shareholders. Infotainment has consumed the major media outlets anyhow. Gotta sell papers; gotta get the ad revenue.

In withdrawing from reality, I’ve let them win. That’s the strategy of the times: to absorb the flock too ignorant to filter the noise or to deafen into submission those who no longer wish to take in every insidious note. I’m not a bureaucratic insider or some savant of political discourse. I just have a healthy constitution of skepticism, the training to interpret critically, and a pretty reliable bullshit meter. And fuck, I’m tired of that thing reading off the charts.

I don’t want to be involved in this conversation. I come to work at coffee shops because, if you can believe it, I actually like people. Well, I find observing them comforting. Call it an evolutionary instinct to be amongst the tribe. It is comforting to see people living their lives, even the vapid ones. Even this group of old white men closed in their own personal echo chamber. I admire that they come together and meet in this place, what feels like a semi-regular basis, to seek validation from one another. They refuse to go quietly into the night. They are raging against the dying of the white light.

I should put my headphones in immediately. I came here to be productive. I have work to do. I am in the rarefied love of a muse who actually wants to help me pen some words to paper today. I’m not even diametrically opposed to their party: I’m in the silent third of American voters who don’t cling to one party or the other. The last thing I want to do right now is to be an apologist for Democrats, the presumptive intellectual superiors who are guilty of the same sins. Except they have a penchant for the cardinal sin of losing.

I can’t help myself. Maybe it’s the Californian in me. Something about the stinging inaccuracy of how many people actually live in San Francisco’s 12th, or inflating the numbers of the popular vote by over a million brought the words out of my mouth.

I don’t attack, but I’m direct. They’re taken aback. Maybe they weren’t expecting someone who looked like them to be a dissenting party. They see my Dodgers hat sitting on the table, and all of a sudden it makes sense. I’m one of “them”. A progressive.

I’m not really anything, I explain. In fact, I’m probably a Libertarian if that was anything more than a theoretical construct, when it is in fact entirely impractical for constructing a governing society.

The one nearest me sees an opportunity to recruit me. He volunteers for the RNC. He speaks kindly, but with an air of moral superiority only God’s children could have. He shares his copy of “The Epoch Times”–an “alternative news outlet that sets the record straight. Unlike The New York Times.”

I return his tone in kind. Sure. Let’s do this here and now. Let us four white men, from different generations, bridge the gap today and let the healing begin. Let’s open a dialogue.

I hear about all the great things the President has done. About how he’s more productive than anyone else ever, but you never hear about it. I concede, you don’t hear a lot about the “good” things, but to say he’s more productive is patently false. I tell them I’m not really concerned about his policies, because it is not really the job of the President to legislate. I’m concerned with his judgment, his narcissism, and his typically emotional responses to criticism. I’m concerned with his divisiveness and his proliferation of misinformation. They tell me he’s not once lied, he’s a straight-shooter, so I needn’t worry.

“Give us an example of one time he lied.”

I go with an easy one, even the folks at home know. “He popularized the birther movement and insisted that President Obama wasn’t born in the United States.”

The black man across from me who has been working away studiously till now begins shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

“Oh, well that doesn’t really matter. And who knows for sure anyway. Give us a second one.”

“Why? The list is monumental in length. Why should I give you another one to brush aside and tell me it’s not important, when you don’t even acknowledge the first as a legitimate example?”

“You can’t give another example can you? See, the liberal media has convinced you that he’s terrible when you have nothing to offer.”

They’re half right. I’m ill-prepared. I’m not equipped to do this because my withdrawal has also robbed me of any munitions for discussion. I don’t have developed discussion points outside the superficial. Any I can actually think of are muddled with too much grey and not going to be fielded well in this crossfire. Most of the President’s lies aren’t really insidious. They’re “this hurricane will definitely hit Alabama” level lies. Shenanigans, if you will.

I tell them to have a good day and thank you for the discussion. I tell the RNC volunteer and Epoch Times subscriber that I’m disappointed he would sell out the values of his party, a party I grew up in, for the short-sided victory of keeping a destabilizing clown in power. They tell me I should consider seeking out the truth instead of being blinded by the liberal media.

I put my headphones in and concede defeat. The commotion had grown over the past fifteen minutes. I could feel my adrenaline pulsing. We are collectively uncomfortable. What I’m sure would’ve been a much longer gathering had been cut short by my interruption. The men begin packing up and inventing responsibilities they must attend to. I sit here and begin to write this, because damnit I need to write something today. Even if it’s a bitch piece that should only exist in some pseudo-journal that’s not particularly inventive.

The adrenaline and agitation from our conversation takes my thoughts dark. I am right to withdraw. There is no room for reasonable discourse on substance. We’re not even arguing about abortion or the death penalty anymore. I feel past Post-Truth. Post-Meaning. Post-Purpose maybe.

Just when I feel I’ll be wrapped completely in this blanket of nihilism and entombed, the third man, who was mostly quiet, lingers to gather my attention.

“You know, I’m more of a libertarian myself. Which compels me to disagree with a lot of these candidates on their social policies. But there’s no denying it: Trump is a terrible person, and I can’t stand him either.”

I thank him for his concession and willing to speak with such an unruly young man as myself a bit more. I apologize for ruining his morning meeting with his friends. We wish each other a good day.

I take a moment of comfort in his statement. It means all hope isn’t lost. Maybe there’s still hope to salvage the dialogue by better, more equipped persons than myself, possessing the necessary optimism and patience. This however, is met with an immediate return to sadness for the man who must wait until his friends are out of earshot so he can whisper his truths to me. I am sad the toxicity of division is so great that this man has closeted himself in the midst of his friends just to keep the peace. That’s not freedom. That’s not America. That’s not great at all.