‘ Nothing of the old-fashioned regulations pertain ‘: Dave Eggers travellings through post-election America

From stupefied referendum darknes revellers in Washington DC to a lesbian Trump voter in Detroit to kids in Kentucky … The US writer guesses the mood of a divided nation

The word surreal is overused and often erroneously expended, but in the case of the Washington Post Election Night Live party, the word was apt. First of all, it was a disco. There was a DJ playing a frenetic mix of contemporary Top 40 and pointedly apropos sungs such as Pat Benatars Hit Me With Your Best Shot( Youre a real tough cookie with a long record ). Behind the DJ there were dozens of screens evidencing many video systems coverage of such elections. The screens were so bright and so huge, and the colours so primary and evocative, that its own experience was like being captured inside an enormous jar of jelly beans.

Women dressed like Vegas showgirls manufactured their mode through the crowd with towering tiered hats adorned with chocolates from one of the evenings patrons. The chocolates, round and the size of strawberries, were offered in pairs, enclosed in loose plastic bags a ludicrou but perhaps intentionally lewd optic? The bartenders were to work out Campari Americanos by the dozens. The food was by cooks Jos Andrs and the brothers Voltaggio. The Washington Post has a right to celebrate the paper is thrive and its political coverage remarkable but this felt like Rome before the fall.

At some item early on, the music was turned down for 20 minutes so Karen Attiah of the Post could moderate a live dialogue between the present German ambassador, Peter Wittig, and former Mexican ambassador Arturo Sarukhan. The talk was serious and enlighten, but the envoys seemed baffled by the nightclub atmosphere, and besides, few people were listening. The defendant was about the party.

And everyone expected Hillary Clinton to win. The attendees were widely Washington insiders lobbyists, staffers, legislative aide-de-camps, pundits and makes. Most were radical and most were confident. The nights exclusively potential for suspense centred around whether or not Clinton would take some of the toss-up positions, like Florida and North Carolina. When she was declared the winner which was expected before the working party scheduled end-time of ten oclock there used to be talk of who would be appointed what, with a not-insignificant fraction of the partygoers in line for positions in the brand-new administration.

Thus the feeling was ebullient at seven oclock, when the occurrence started, and was electric by eight. Kentucky and Indiana were announced for Donald Trump and that word was met with a shrug. More scantily clad females walked through the chambers providing hors doeuvres, and soon there were at least three showgirls wearing hats of towering testicle-chocolates. Young Washingtonians swayed to the music. Sips were determined under chairs and spilled. A young girl in a beautiful party dress sauntered through the drunken partygoers looking for her parents.

Then nine oclock developed around and the working party began to turn. Most of the states thus far used to go for Trump. None of these victories was surprising, but the flush of the national map was daunting, and the margins in those states are generally greater than expected. He took Texas, North Dakota, Kansas, Mississippi. Not a problem for the crowd, but by 9.30, parties were panicking. Trump was guiding in Florida and North Carolina. Nate Silver, the statistics shaman who had been roundly criticised for exaggerating Trumps occasions , now posted that a Trump victory was likely. Ohio was in the bag, Pennsylvania was trending toward him, and it was like he could triumph Wisconsin and Michigan. A hundred guests returned their attention from the big screens to their little screens. They paced and saw summons. The defendant emptied and we all spilled into the streets. Beyond the Washington Post building and beyond DC, the two countries had been bog by a white tsunami few interpreted coming.

Election nighttime at The Washington Post. Photo: The Washington Post/ Getty Images

For a few hours, the city had the feeling of a catastrophe movie. Beings scurried this behavior and that. Some strayed around dazed. Following the restores, we jaunted from eatery to table to home, and the Somali and Ethiopian cabbies were stupefied, worried less about Trump than about future prospects of Rudy Giuliani serving in the cabinet in any capability. We all talked about where we will move: Belize; New Zealand; Canada. We no longer knew our own country. In Columbia Heights, when the election was decided, a young lady biking up the hill stopped, threw her bike into the middle-of-the-road of the road, sat on a kerb and began moaning. No no no no, she wailed.

The foreshadows were there if you gazed. A month before the election, Id driven from Pittsburgh to the Philadelphia suburbs and interpreted nothing but Trump/ Pence signals. In three days I dealt about 1,200 miles of back roads and highway some of the prettiest country you can find on this continent and read not one sign, big or small, in supporting Clinton. The only period any mention of her was made at all was on a tremendous billboard accepting her is confronted with a Pinocchio nose.

I did attend Confederate flags. James Carville, the political strategist, lately quipped that Pennsylvania is Pittsburgh and Philadelphia with Alabama in between, and there is some reality to that. There are a lot of men in camouflage casings. There are a lot of men out of work. When you stop at gas station, the periodical sections are overwhelmed by periodicals devoted to artilleries, hunting and survival. Then there are the tidy farms and rolling mounds, the equestrian cores with their white barricades, the wide-cut swaths of Amish and Mennonites and Quakers.

I was in rural Pennsylvania to realize the United 93 National Memorial in Shanksville a headstone to the 40 fares and gang who died in a windswept battlefield on 9/11. The date I called was bright and clear. The smothering country was alive with autumn colourings and, far on distant ridgelines, white-hot windmills moved slowly. Just off the parking lot, a park ranger in forest green was standing before a diverse group of middle school students, discouraging them. Boys and girls. Boys and girls, he said. Youre sitting there where people died. There are still human continues here. Youre goofing around and giggling, and I shouldnt have to tell you to be respectful. They deserve that. They quieted for a moment before one of the boys nudged another, and the giggling embarked again.

Trump supporters rally in Oceanside, California. Photograph: Bill Wechter/ AFP/ Getty Images

The memorial is beautifully constructed and ravaging in its psychological perforate. Tourists can walk the flightpath of the plane, a gently ascent street down to the gate-crash website, which is separated from the footpath by a low-pitched wall. Its a tomb, another ranger explained. So we dont walk there. Higher on the hill, there is an indoor guest core that recreates every moment of the working day in excruciating item. “Theres” video loops of the Twin Towers being destroyed, scraps of the plane, word-paintings and bios of every passenger, detailed information on the calls they made from the plane once they knew they would die. It is shattering.

Leaving the museum, a humanity in front of me, young and constructed like a weightlifter, couldnt push the door open. I reached over him to help and he turned to thank me. His look was drenched with snaps. I got into my automobile, shaken but heartened by the courage of the 40 humen who had realised what was happening that this organization is fares on cruise missiles headed for the White House or Capitol building and had relinquished their lives to save countless quantities in Washington DC. The American passengers of United 93 is coming from 35 different municipalities in 11 different governments, but they died together to save the capital city from immense loss of lives and what might have been a crippling blow to the nations psyche.

I left the commemoration and turned on to a two-lane superhighway, part of the Lincoln Highway that runs through the regime part of the firstly coast-to-coast road in the United States. Just beyond a signaling advertising home-grown sweetcorn, there was a residential residence, the first mansion anyone might encounter when leaving the United Memorial, and on this home, there is a vast Confederate flag draped over the front porch.

Its important to note that this was the Lincoln Highway. And that the civil conflict ceased 160 years ago. And that Pennsylvania was not a district in the Confederacy. So to see this, an enormous Confederate flag in a Union state, a mile from a token of national misfortune and shared sacrifice, was an indicator that there was something very unusual in the mood of the two countries. Ancient abhorrences had resurfaced. Strange confederations had been organized. Nothing of the old-fashioned principles applied.

The Flight 93 National Memorial in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. Picture: Mark Makela/ Reuters

Steven McManus has come out of the closet twice. First as a lesbian soul, then as a Trump supporter. We were sitting at a coffee shop in Detroits Eastern Market neighbourhood, and McManus was almost vibrating. This was two days after Trumps election, and McManus was elated about the succes, yes, but more personally, about the facts of the case that after Trumps election, hed had the mettle to post a letter on social media testifying his support of the president-elect.

I lived a lot of “peoples lives” as a closeted guy, McManus alleged, and the freeing I detected as a husband came to see you was similar to how I detected coming out for Trump. You really truly think youre the only one who has these pities. Its liberating. I felt it was time to come out again.

McManus is a thin soldier in his late 30 s, bald and bespectacled, with a close-cropped whisker. He grew up in the members of the Detroit suburbs known as Downriver. Many of the different regions inhabitants had come from the American south in the 1940 s to work in the vehicle factories, and the arena still retains a southern look. His father was a salesman who brokered room on trucking cables. Gazing back on it now, McManus appreciated the fact that his mothers could conjure five children on one salesmans salary. But then passed the Nafta, and the gutting of much of the Detroit auto manufacturing base. McManus watched as Detroit and Flint hollowed out and caved in.

Trump was the only candidate talking about the trade inequality, McManus pronounced. Being a businessman, a successful businessman, he understood why business decision-makers, at the highest levels of their companies, move their production overseas. McManus was angry when vehicle firms, after receiving bailouts from the US government in 2009, continued to move production to Mexico. In Detroit, we contributed America the middle class. But this is now a inaccurate economy. The housing marketplace is decimated, and the middle class is flinch. I crave someone to shake it up. Lets move the whole country forward.

McManus is not blind to the rareness of an openly lesbian person supporting Trump. But I dont cast their votes any particular course based on my sexuality. In my brain weve moved beyond having to vote Democrat exactly because youre homosexual. And hes not worried about a reversal of the hard-fought right to marriage homosexuals precisely attained. Weve got our privileges now, he did. Its settled. McManus and his partner got married three years ago in New York, before the supreme court of the united states decision legalised lesbian union nationwide, and it was in his new situate of domestic equanimity that McManus watched the Republican national convention. Two moments altered him intensely. First was the appearance of Peter Thiel, the former CEO of PayPal, who was given a prime orators place and said from the stage, Every American has a unique identity. I am proud to be lesbian. I am proud to be a Republican. But most of all, I am proud to be an American.

McManus was moved then, but he was even more affected by an unscripted part of Trumps speech. It was shortly after the Orlando massacre, and for the first time in “peoples lives”, a Republican candidate for chairman added concepts like, forty-nine marvelous Americans, or beautiful Americans or whatever he responded, were savagely murdered. And he said, I will keep gay and lesbian individuals. Some people at the convention heartened and some people didnt applaud. And then Trump supposed, off the cuff and off the teleprompter, he announced, For those of you who encouraged, I thank you. And I announced. I cried.

McManuss husband works for the army, as an IT specialist, and they both became inconvenienced by Clintons email setup. If my husband had done the same thing, hed be fired. And its pretty hard to get fired from both governments task. McManus began to follow Trump more closely, and found that he was agreeing with most of hispositions on sell, immigration and national security. I began to realise that Im more conservative than I belief. But he couldnt expose this. He lives in Detroit, a liberal metropoli, and works in the restaurant manufacture in town, where left-leaning politics dominate. But after coming out as a Trump supporter, he is finding himself emboldened. The era after such elections, McManus realized his doctor, who is Muslim, and he mentioned that hed voting in favour Trump.

I just wanted to get it off my chest. I was appearing a bit McManus sits up in his chair, to indicate the brand-new confidence he felt that day. I told him, I came out as a Trump supporter today. And he went off for 15 instants to the point where I virtually walked out. He was impassioned about how he felt that Trump was disenfranchising Muslim-Americans. But our current nation of terrorism does have a religious tinge to it. Eventually I managed to get something off my chest. I cant recollect who said this to me, either my husband or my ex, but I said to my doctor, You know, it wasnt a group of Catholic nuns that operated planes into the World Trade Center.

Proud to be a Republican Peter Thiel. Image: ddp USA/ REX/ Shutterstock

Later that night in Detroit, I ran into Rob Mickey, a professor of political science. He grew up in Texas, but has expended about 10 years schooling at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. We were at “states parties ” advantaging an education nonprofit. Doing something specific and positive feel better, and being around kids feel better, but everybody is exhausted no one had slept since such elections and 30 seconds into every conversation it turned to Trump, Clinton, what had gone wrong and what the fuck is does happen. One of the events attendees had been living in a central American gloom forest for years, and there was much talking here following her down there.

I told Mickey about McManus, and to him, the history of the gay Trump supporter was both surprising and unsurprising. Everything about 2016 was upside down. Places of Michigan who had voted twice for Obama had turned to Trump. Rob and his wife Jenny had gone canvassing for Clinton on the Sunday before the election, and the reception they received was not warm.

I would say it was hostile, he said.

They had gone to Milan, Michigan, an overwhelmingly white-hot city 50 miles southwest of Detroit. Its spelled like the Italian town, but pronounced MY-lan, Rob pointed out. The Clinton campaign had given Rob and Jenny a listing of identifies and residences of grey working-class residents who had registered as Democrats but were labelled sporadic voters. Milan had voted for Obama in 2008 and 2012, and prevailing towns such as Milan was key to delivering a Clinton victory in Michigan.

The residences they visited were run-down, with No Soliciting postings on every entrance. They realise no Clinton mansions on anyones lawn. There were Trump mansions scattered around township, but the majority of members of the residents they are complying with were outraged by the entire election. One female suggested, I dont want to have nothing to do with that, Mickeyrecalled. Another did, I dislike them both, including the right guy of yours. When I pointed out that our nominee were women, she read, Whatever and threw the door.

One house with a Bernie Sanders sign on the lawn gazed promising. Mickey knocked on the door. A white man with a US ARMY shirt reacted. He was missing an forearm. Mickey introduced himself as a Clinton canvasser, and told the man he had supported Sanders, very, during the course of its primary. Thats enormous, the man pronounced, and closed the door.

The people we matched that day were straight out of center casting, if only we making a movie about the disaffected white working class, Mickey mentioned. Between 55 and 65, without college stages. You could see that Lena Dunham and Katy Perry were not going to do anything to chassis a bridge to these parties. If I hadnt read any polls, and I was basing it simply on the person or persons I assembled, I would have recollected, boy, Clintons going to get wiped out.

It was different in 2008. Knowing that Michigan was securely in Obamas column and Ohio was on the bubble, Rob and Jenny went to Toledo to knock on doorways in trailer park and home assignments. Foreclosure signs were common. When they introduced themselves as canvassers for Obama, the residents, all of them white-hot, were welcoming and chatty. The interactions were long, Mickey pronounced. The parties were worried and they wanted to talk. Ohios 18 electoral polls went to Obama in 2008 and 2012.

This campaign wore a lot of beings down, Mickey answered. The territory was bombarded by pro-Clinton ads, but she failed to offer any sustained and coherent financial letter. She remarked, Im not crazy and Im not a sexist prejudiced animal, but for working class white-hots thats not sufficient. I would say that of the people who threw their doorways on me, most of them didnt vote for either candidate.

A Hillary Clinton supporter acclaims her televised conceding lecture. Photo: Steven Senne/ AP

In fact, an unprecedented number of Michigan voters cast ballots without opting either Clinton or Trump. This various kinds of voting happens every referendum where voters make their advantages known down-ballot but dont mark anyone for president but never in such quantities. In 2012, there used to be 50,000 Michigan voters who declined to choose any presidential nominee. In 2016, there were 110,000.

Clinton lost Michigan by 13,107 votes.

The week after the election, the business of the United States went on. Schools and banks were open. The stock market plummeted and rose to a new high. Passengers travelled, and I was headed from Detroit to Kentucky. All of this was travel planned a few months ago, and none of it had anything to do with the election, but it felt like I was obliging my course, intentionally, into the heart of Trump country.

At Detroit airport it was impossible not to find the tragic events of Tuesday as having realigned our relations with each other. Because the voting had divided so dramatically along ethnic lines, how could an African-American or Latino transfer a white person on wall street, or at baggage demand, and not amaze, Which back are you on?

The emergence of safety pins to symbolise is supportive of Clinton( and equality and inclusion) was inevitable it fulfilled a motive, particularly on the members of white-hot Americans, to signal where they stand. Otherwise all iconography is subject to misinterpretation. At the airport, I learnt an elderly white man staring at me. His eyes restricted to incisions. I was astounded until I realised he was looking at my baseball hat, which the logo and refer of a Costa Rican beer called Imperial. Was this guy a Clinton supporter who believed me of has become a white patriot? Was the word Imperial sending a Ku Klux Klan/ Third Reich signal to him?

Anyway, I was in the wrong terminal. I was in danger of missing a flight to Louisville, so I left and poked my heading into a Hertz bus and requested the move if he would be stopping near Delta anytime soon. He paused for a moment.

Yeah, Ill take you, he said.

His name was Carl. He was a lanky African-American man in his 60 s, and we razz alone, merely me and him in this enormous bus, for a season. He asked how I was doing. I told him I was horrendous. I was feeling terrible, but I too missed him to know which line-up I was on. He laughed.

A traveller in Detroit airport. Photograph: Jim Young/ REUTERS

Yeah, I was astounded on Tuesday, more, he suggested. But I nearly feel sorry for Trump. I dont think he thought hed actually triumph. You meet him sitting next to Obama at the Oval Office? He looked like a child.

In Louisville, three days after the election, I sat with 32 students at Fern Creek high school. This was supposed to be a regular classroom visit by someone passing through, but the atmosphere was different now. The students at Fern Creek are from 28 countries. They speak 41 languages. “Theres” refugees from Syria, South Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo. We sat in an oval-shaped and ate samosas. Nepalese samosas, I was told. Three of the students in the class is coming from Nepal, and had a particular recipe. The meat was extraordinary.

I told these students, three girls still reading English, that Id ever wanted to go to Nepal, and asked them to write down some situates theyd recommend. They wrote Jhapa, Damak( Refugee camp ). They were from Bhutan and had grown up in a UNHCR camp in east Nepal. A young man to my left had come from Iraq two years earlier.

Their schoolteachers, Joseph Franzen and Brent Peters, guided the conversation through topics of ingenuity, social justice and empathy. The students were without exception musing, solicitous and respectful of each others opinions. Every meter a student finished a statement, the rest of the class snapped, Beat-style, in acknowledgment. We didnt talk politics. For the time being, the students had had enough of politics. The era after the election, theyd had a charged dialogue about research results, and, still feeling raw, they had written about the discussion the next day.

The thing I didnt say yesterday was that Muslims scare me. The thing with Isis is out of control and I dont rely them at all and I dont get why Mexicans cant take the test to become legal? Are they lazy?

The election didnt actually vex me even with the outcome, I didnt support Trump. The most important reason I attended about Clinton triumphing was campaign I didnt require their own families to be affected. My mummy is homosexual and married to a woman.

As a Muslim female in high school its hard to deal with this and make it sink in. But I know Trump doesnt have full power of his actions. So I feel like even if hes president, everything will be the same.

I was downright disappointed in the two countries. Because Trump won, racism, sexism, misogyny and xenophobia prevailed. It goes to show what our country appreciates now. Either this is what we importance, or this is what the majority is OK with.

I feel like everything said yesterday doesnt even matter anymore. We as American citizens cant change whats been decided. Not everybody gets what they miss. Thats what life is. Trump will be our brand-new president and we cant change that. WE need to reach America great again, NOT Trump. Thats our activity as people.

I ponder Trump and Hillary are both crazy and Im kind of enthusiastic to see how trump flows this b—h.

And so we see how differently we utter ourselves on paper. The students, sitting in their oval-shaped with the smell of Nepalese samosas filling the room, were unfailingly species to each other. But on paper, other souls were released. Despite the many international students, the schools population is mostly American-born, 48% lily-white and 38% pitch-black, and “its easy” to be acknowledged that Trump could wreak dormant grudges to the fore, could devote licence to reactionary beliefs and kneejerk beliefs. The students had witnessed eight years of exquisite presidential self-control and glory, and now there would be a 70 -year-old man in the White House whose impressions were easily hurt, who announced beings refers, and who tweeted his complaints at all hours, with rampant misspellings and exclaiming ratings. Our only hope lies in the fact that the 100 million or so young people in American institutions react better than the president. A chairperson who has not read a book since he was last requirements to. Think of it.

After the class, a tall African-American student mentioned Devin approached me. Hed initiated himself before the class, and had asked some very sophisticated questions about utilizing imagery to transmit intend in his verse. He was a wide receiver on the schools football squad, he told, but he was also a scribe. He sided me a loose-leaf piece of paper, and on it was a prose-poem he wanted me to look at.

We sat on top of my house, laying back, looking at the stars, the stars gleaming, waving back at us. They told us hello. Time froze. I changed my manager to look at you. Still fixated on the stars, you paid me no knowledge. I contemplated you. This was the true look of knockout. Your royal blue eyes, the dark-brown polka dots on your look. Your smile obligating the moon envious because it could not compare in light-headed. I reached out to grasp your hand. You changed your eyes to look at me. Our hands met and we both smiled. I told you you two are were beautiful.

Below the segment, Devin wrote, in red ink, Do I have something here? Should I sustain?

Anti-Trump Protesters parade through Los Angeles on 12 November. Image: UPI/ Barcroft Images

That night in Louisville there was another benefit event, this one for an organisation called Teach Kentucky, which drafts high-achieving college postgraduates to come to the country to teach in the public institutions. Joe Franzen and Brent Peters are among Teach Kentuckys drafts, and if they are any signal of the quality of human rights the organisation is attracting, the programme is a blowout success.

At the incident, Franzen and Peters spoke about their spacecraft, and about shaping sure their students seemed they had a place at the table. There was much talk about their classrooms as houses, of dinners shared by all, of reciprocal respect. It was very calm and heartening, but there was also a moment where the audience was encouraged to let out a primal screeching( my mind, I acknowledge it ), and 200 beings did that, screamed, exorcising our election-week beasts. Afterward on, Jim James Louisville resident and captain of the stone ensemble My Morning Jacket play-act a medley of hymns, from Leonard Cohento All You Require Is Love and Blowin in the Wind. And then everyone got drunk.

There was good bourbon. It was called brown irrigate by the locals, and after stomachs were full, we all hesitated between hopelessnes and measured hope. But the questions tower over the darknes like the shade of a Nazi zeppelin. Would he truly try to build a wall? Would he truly try to omit all Muslims? Would he actually commission a grey nationalist as his chief of staff? And did 42% of American maidens actually vote for a humanity who threatened to invalidate Roe v Wade and who boasted about grabbing them by the pussy? Did the white working class certainly selecting a serviceman whose most well known catchphrase was Youre fired? Like a boy with good self-esteem, the American people had chosen the gaudy and abusive lover over the steady, boring one. Weve had enough decency for one decade , their constituencies chose. Give us chaos .

It is not easy to get a ticket to Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture. This is the newest museum on the National Mall in Washington, DC, and its layout, by the Ghanaian-British architect David Adjaye, is so successful, at once instantly iconic and daring but likewise somehow blending into the low-slung bordering building, that it has become the most talked-about building in the United States.

Admission is free, but there is a six-month wait for transfers, and the extends are timed. If you get a pass, you must enroll at the assigned hour or wait another six months. I had gotten such a timed pass, and it so happened that the pass was for the day after the election. That morning, I had the choice between remain in berth, waiving my one chance at investigating the building in 2016, or rising on 3 hour sleep and remaining the appointed. Like millions of others, I did not want the day to begin. If I woke up, I would check the information, and if I checked the information, there would be proof of what I had remembered foggily from the night before that the people of America had elected a reality video multitude as their president. I closed my seeings, missing sleep.

Then I recollected the Gazans.

Back in April, I had been in the Gaza Strip and had met a married couple, Mahmoud and Miriam, writers and activists who poorly wanted to leave Gaza. I had e-introduced them to an asylum lawyer in San Francisco, but from 7,000 miles away, she couldnt do much to help. The hopeless stuff was that they actually had a visa. A real visa issued by the American state department. All they were required to do was get out of Gaza. But dispensations were needed from the Israelis or Egyptians, and they were having no luck with either. Finally, the working day in October, an email arrived. Mahmoud and Miriam were in Brooklyn. Theyd bribed an Egyptian sentry at the Rafah gate and had obligated their behavior on a 14 hour pilgrimage through Sinai.

National Museum of African American History and Culture. Image: Michael Barnes/ Smithsonian Insitution

So on a lark I told them to satisfy me in DC. Frederick Douglass had said, after all, that every American should call the nations uppercase at least once. And given they would soon be Americans, wouldnt it be good to do that function right away, and do it the day after the first girl had been elected president?( We had acquired the plans a week before .)

So they had planned to meet me at this museum celebrating African-American biography in the shade of the obelisk devote to George Washington, great man and too slaveowner. The morning was clear and chill. A small route had formed outside the museum before the doors were to open. I searched around, and didnt encounter them. Then I did.

They were aglow. Theyd spent their lives in an open-air prison of 141 square miles, and now they were here. They could move about freely, could decide one day to go to the capital of the United States and be there a few hours later. No checkpoints , no bribes , no Hamas secret police. Id investigated Miriam suffer in Gaza because she refused to wear the hijab and favoured western invests. In Gaza City, she was hollered at, cursed. I hope your parents are proud! parties yelled to her. Now she was herself, uncovered, dressing as she picked. H

Like it.? Share it:

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.