I sat across the hallway, mostly. People-watching.
I am afraid that I did not participate in any meaningful way.
Despite my standoffishness, friendliness abounded. Attendees approached me offering political literature, which I accepted gladly. A man congratulated me on my “magnificent” nose.
I sat on a windowsill. I sat cross-legged, which is not to say I suffered from some sort of affliction – not walleyed or club-footed, pigeon-toed or hump-backed – but I mean to say rather that I sat with my legs crossed.
What an appalling word! Cross-legged. Like an impairment or very nearly so: “I am sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Patel, but little Sanjay is going to be cross-legged for life. We can have him fitted with leg braces.”
This report of mine is a travesty, bogged down in talk of cross-leggedness and no way to extricate myself from it now. This is why I avoid political reporting.
At least I didn’t say “sitting Indian style.”
|Dr. Cornel West ran from me, I believe.|
|Wikileaks' Julian Assange spoke via satellite.|
|This young man came in second in the Florida|
Green Presidential primaries. He is 17.
|In the end, the convention nominated these two individuals|
to be President and Vice President.