The Goons of Big Government

     A young man walked out of his apartment and down the street. He was 24 years old with dark brown hair and gray eyes. He was dressed like a lumberjack although he didn’t work as a lumberjack.

     The young man saw a bunch of people shouting as he walked closer to city hall. From down the street, it looked like a bunch of 13- and 14-year-old boys shouting their dissatisfaction over some issue. The young man got closer and noticed they weren’t 14-year-old boys, but unattractive, underdeveloped women with crew cut and marine corps haircuts. Some wore military fatigues, and others wore rainbow shirts, and others just looked bad in whatever uniform they were wearing.

     They were shouting “Genocide Men.’’ Some had posters that read “Down with the Patriarchy,’’ and “Kill your Fathers.’’

     One of the short-haired women stopped the young man. He became nervous, not wanting to deal with the confrontation or any drama as he walked to his work site.

     “You should be killed,’’ the short-haired woman shouted into his face, spraying him with spittle in at least three spots on his face.

     The young man’s head whipped backward, and he stepped back to reset his posture. He dragged his hand over his face, wiping off the spittle.

     “Why should I be killed?’’ the young man asked the angry, short-haired woman.

     “Because you’re male,’’ she screamed, more spittle striking him on the forehead and nose.

     “You want to kill all men?’’

     “Every single solitary one of you,’’ she screamed overzealously, histrionically, and completely consumed by her emotions. And again, more spittle hit the young man in the face.

     He wiped his face again. Then said, “You’re just mad because no guy will sleep with you. Right?’’

     The young man saw the change in the angry, short-haired woman’s face. She turned red, and her eyebrows shifted, and the evil he saw in her eyes shocked the young man.

     He wasn’t scared even though he probably should have been with all of the same people shouting the same thing and carrying on like spoiled children.

     The angry, shorthaired woman reared back, tried to jab the young man in the face, but he dipped his head and leaned slightly into the punch, and she jammed her knuckles into his forehead. She pulled her fist back quickly, holding her fist in her opposite hand, wincing in pain.

     “That punch looks like it hurt you more than me,’’ he said to the angry, short-haired woman.

     She stood there, holding her dislocated knuckles. The look on her face was not anger any more, but the vulnerability from the pain of a miscalculated punch.

     The young man said to her, “If you killed all of the men in the world, who’d collect your trash and fix your cars?’’

     The angry, short-haired woman, now crying from the pain, walked away quickly to another short-haired woman who began to examine her hand.

     The young man continued to walk down the street. He saw another group of people shouting something. As he got closer, he saw two of the people holding signs. One read, “Gays for Islam’’ while the other read “Inclusion for All.’’

     The young man said to one of the people shouting, “Don’t Muslims kill gay people for being gay?’’

     A man wearing a purse and rainbow-colored hair pointed at the young man, and screamed, “Straight white male.’’ And he screamed it over and over again.

     The rest of the group turned, looked at the young man, and began saying to him, “Breeders get out of our space.’’

     So, the young man continued to walk to work, happy no one tried, and succeeded, in punching him.

     He walked down the street some more and saw another group of people shouting. The young man noticed that this group was a mix of women and men. He saw that the men were dressed like men while all of the women had full heads of hair. All of them, both men and women, were dressed in black.

     The young man got close enough to see a t-shirt that read “Antifascist,’’ and the young man thought `oh, no.’

     The group got louder, more obnoxious, shouting “Death to Capitalism.’’ The large signs came out. One read “Socialism.’’ Another read “Communism.’’ Others read “Redistribute Wealth,’’ “Cancel Student Debt,’’ and “Universal Basic Income.’’ On many of the signs, all of the letters were capitalized, and the young man thought folks holding those signs were the most rude.

     The young man’s walk through the crowd was cautious and deliberate. This was the biggest of the crowds he met while walking to work. The people dressed in black began to throw eggs and apples and tomatoes at the federal building they stood in front of.

     One of the people in the crowd pointed at the young man as he stood out from all of the people who were dressed the same and looked the same, and said, “Capitalist.’’ A smaller group started pelting the young man with eggs and apples, and the young man ran.

     The young man felt the wet spots on his shirt from the eggs and caught the scent of the apples that hit him and broke apart like fleshy grenades.

     The first person he saw after reaching his worksite was his supervisor, who asked, “What happened?’’

     The young man responded, “Attacked hard. By over-emoting parasites.’’