We biked to the Trump rally with our little American flags, because it’s our flag too. John pinned my late father’s flag-patterned suspenders to his backpack to bring Nurn’s patriotic spirit of passionate protest with us.

We found crowds of our neighbors screaming and cursing at each other. And news crews. Lots and lots of news crews. So instead of joining the shouting, we found people who would listen. Together, we gave six press interviews speaking out against Trump. My talking points: Trump is unAmerican. This country is about liberty and justice FOR ALL. He’s a traitor to our country’s values.

As the Trump supporters and reporters filed into the venue and the crowd got rougher around dusk, we biked home under the roar of helicopters. Past rows of sheriff’s deputies on horseback, traffic-induced car accidents, protesters waving Mexican flags yelling at SUVs waving middle fingers from their tinted windows. Out of a militarized zone back into OC’s usual clouds of star jasmine scent and blooming jacarandas under a sunset sky. Home sweet home. But it doesn’t feel quite the same.