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For a few years now, I’ve learned to sit down, shut up and listen. I do that for a bit, then I write.

First Day on the Job

First Day on the Job

It was a four-hour drive from the magazine's office in Portland, Maine to the activists' office in downtown Burlington, Vermont. I got the ad sales job on Friday, invited to a meeting on Sunday, quit on Monday, and got the interview and photos assignment via voicemail on Tuesday. The magazine publisher gave me $70 for gas. I'd never been to Vermont. It's crossed off now. It was cold and dreary with the leaves not quite as bright in the diffused sunlight. I had a lot on my mind from my research the night before. The story sounded exciting to me. It was supposed to be a good news story. It really is.

A little past Montpelier, I saw the covered wagon on my left but I kept driving. My mind screamed at me to stop, still I kept driving. I had an interview to get to and I still had a bit to go. My mind rationed more clearly the further I drove, "When's the last time you saw a covered wagon on the side of the road?" So with no other cars around, I pulled over to the side and made a quick U-turn. My butt was tired from the long drive, and I was going to be thirty minutes early anyway. My time in the military taught me, "If you're not early, you're late." Hurry up and wait is a thing, so I had some spare time to stop and shoot the wagon. I wasn't the first one to shoot the wagon, either.

After a quick walk-around, I was back on my way to interview the leaders of a human rights organization named Migrant Justice. I'm not the first one to interview them. Google them.

To be continued...

Blood at Their Feet

Blood at Their Feet

Common Sense

Common Sense

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