The air feels electric, and not in a good way. Washington is filling up with people in flag-print clothing, convinced tomorrow will deliver them the country they think was stolen. Hotels are booked, hashtags are buzzing, and everyone’s suddenly a general in an army of grievance.
Call it what you want — “Stop the Steal,” “the big day,” “1776 reborn” — it smells less like patriotism and more like a powder keg. Politicians are playing coy, pretending tomorrow is just another Wednesday. Meanwhile, buses keep rolling in and social media is frothing.
America does this peculiar thing: it sees the storm on the horizon and insists the sky is only “partly cloudy.” If something breaks tomorrow, the headlines will call it “unforeseen.” Nonsense. The signs are loud, neon, and blinking.
What comes next? Either a parade of delusion that fizzles out in chants and selfies, or something uglier. Whichever way, don’t say you weren’t warned.