Jenny's arms were folded, in the angry way. "So of course I called the day of. I take a drive around my constituents' homes every day, lookin' for something to fix. And so I see this, call WASA. Where are they? I called the next day. Nothing. I called the next day. Nothing."
Jeff, the City Paper journalist, nodded and held his recorder about a foot and a half away from Jenny's face. "So then you decided to get out here and protest?"
"I wonder a lot of things. I mean, yeah, I decided to get out here and raise a stink. That didn't do anything. The other ANCs wouldn't join me in solidarity, even though they all pretty much have the same problems. It's like--we all have things exploding. Sewers stink, water mains break, pipes don't work, we go without water, electricity, I mean--say nothing of Internet or anything. We know enough that that's all luxury. But, hell, the whole city's gone bad. I hear the crust creakin' all the time. I knew that stilt was gonna go. Why haven't we, you know--done something about it? As a people?"
"People have. I mean, the CPACers. They blew up most of Woodley Park. Some of the animal cages in the zoo got blown open, too. The cheetahs finally got the zebras. It was terrible."
"Okay, persons have done something. But I mean, we got a whole city with horrible problems. Some people say the whole country's like this. Everything's broken. Everything. Where are the people? I mean, I'm a person, I am doing something, singular. Where's the solidarity?"
Jeff threw up his hands for a moment, while still holding his recorder.
Jenny harumphed. "You throw up your hands now. Let's go for a walk around here. Then you might change your mind."
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