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We got a new car this week. Bernie’s in the backseat.


The last few weeks in the U.S. felt like riding in a racecar that, while well built, was starting to break down.
After four years of aggressive and erratic driving, lights on the dash were flashing. Noises were sounding from places they shouldn’t be. Weird smells. Smoke.

As passengers, we gripped our seats and held our breath because we knew that just around the next turn there was a pit stop. We could add some oil. Change tires, drivers.

On Wednesday we reached that pit stop and it felt like fresh air on the face after a masked 10-hour shift.

We saw civility. We heard hope. We witnessed history.

And when the dust settled and the crowd dispersed and Amanda Gorman’s words echoed in our heads like a mind massage, we exhaled, got back in our tuned-up car and made memes of Bernie Sanders. Giddy with optimism. Ready to race.

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"Oh and call mom. Always call mom."


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