A few days ago, I ran into an old friend who’s spending the holidays running a food kitchen for the unhoused. “How are you?” she asked, with a big smile. “Been better,” I said. “Oh, you’re still in a funk over the election,” she said. “Don’t worry! We’ll do fine. There’s so much work to do.” “Yes, but Trump is …” She stopped me, her face turning into a frown. “Nothing we can do about him now, except get ready for his regime. Protect the people who’ll be hurt.” “You’re right.” After a pause she said, “we had to come to this point, you know.” “What do you mean?” “Biden couldn’t get done nearly enough. The reactionary forces have been building for years. They’re like the puss in an ugly boil.” “That’s the worst metaphor I’ve heard!” I laughed. “The boil is on our collective ass,” she continued, laughing along with me. “And the only way we get up enough courage to lance the boil it is for it to get so big and so ugly and so mean that no one can sit down!” “I don’t know whether you’re an optimist or a pessim…