Look close, she’s there. Top right, looking straight at us with a nonplussed, kind of exasperated expression. What does it mean to be the one clear-eyed individual in a sea of people with eyes shut tight? Everybody else is lost to whatever they’re feeling: their loud cries, their waving arms. Their pained, communal rapture. Everyone except for her, wondering how on earth she got here, connecting with us amidst the madness. We are all granted these moments of clarity, when we can either stand there and go along with the mob, or make the decision to step outside the tent.

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