“You said America’s changing for the worse?” You ask him abruptly, snapping the cap back on your marker. The poster is streaked in black and red. Bold colors and raw, sketchy handwriting don’t beg for consideration, they demand it.

Soldier Boy’s head jerks up from where it was resting on the back of the couch. Some football game was on, the men were tackling each other in colors that you didn’t recognize. The commentator’s brassy voice was interrupted by the sound of obnoxiously loud crunching. The grumpy supe doesn’t know how to respond to your statement, perhaps preparing himself for some leftist hippie lecture.

“Yeah?” He scoffs through a mouthful of chips, looking back at the tv. “So what?”

“Then you should get off the couch and do something about it!” You exclaim. Soldier Boy growls, his head whipping back around so fast that his bangs fall in his eyes.

“There’s a No Kings Protest nearby in half an hour,” you begin, setting your poster on the kitchen counter. “In short, there’s signs and chants to go against this president who wants to turn this into a dictatorship. You should come along, and besides, we can get donuts afterward…”

He blinks. The fish is hooked. “Well ain’t that the most un-American thing I’ve heard…” your glorified roommate mumbles darkly. It’s so amusing to think about the American hero standing and shouting with older ladies, young democrats and their kids.

With a massive groan, both from him and your poor couch, Soldier Boy pushes himself to his feet. “…Fine. But we’re buying those donuts.”