Meeting up with a couple non-media, non-RNC-affiliated locals for a pre-dinner drink, I asked for their first impressions on the circus. As a steady parade of politically costumed outsiders streamed
I arrived in Cleveland convinced the RNC would be the death of me. There is not a drop of hyperbole in this statement. And it’s true what they say: when people think they’re close to death, they do crazy things.
Search for downtown Cleveland on Google Earth before Friday and a giant, pixelated blob of commemorative Trump-themed swag will appear before your very eyes.
“If you walk down any protest line, there’s no discourse. It’s just yelling,” says Eric Helms, plausibly the only Clevelander to put up his own billboard in anticipation of the arrival of the Republican National Convention. “No one is listening to each other. Discourse is dead.”