News reporter Jose A. DelReal shares vignettes from his night on the beat at Occupy Boston.
I.
The march walks by one of those big banks in the Financial District. You know the ones. Just outside the doors are two tall, white young men sipping iced coffee from Starbucks. They’re both wearing suits. There’s so much energy on the street. They’re not chanting, but maybe they feel it too.
II.
The girl speaking on the steps seems pretty shy. Seems like she has a nice, steady head on her shoulders. “I’m out here because, well, WHAT THE FUCK ELSE AM I GOING TO DO!?”
III.
Hey officer, how’s your night going, I ask. Can I stand on this sidewalk without getting arrested? No response. Hey, what do you think about all the commotion? Silence. I head back towards the music and wait.
IV.
The cops are lined up in two rows, a hundred of them, ready to march into the crowd. No one’s backing down. Drums beat out a rhythm—steady, steady, steady.
V.
The tents are all gone; people are standing around, unsure what’s next. The cops gather in a corner and prepare to leave. It’s 3:30 in the morning. They aren’t bad people, neither are the protestors. It would all be demoralizing except for the adrenaline. The cabs are going by on Purchase Street.
