March 1 — Super Tuesday
The air is unseasonably warm as I leave work in Crystal City, a portent of change, perhaps? It feels ominous. As I pass an apartment complex, a woman who looks like the type of person who reads the New Yorker on Saturday mornings walks about, pulling up Trump signs from planters. She says nothing. So he made it this far in to the beltway? For a moment my bubble bursts. This is the first evidence of the existence of Trump supporters I’ve seen in person. Then the woman pulls up the last sign, and I pass around the corner.