Fevered Coverage of Trump in Hartford, CT
I just left the road for a bit. I almost made it the whole season.
Driving into Hartford, Connecticut at one in the morning is like driving into any number of North East cities. Not much is happening, but somehow, thanks to continual construction, there is traffic. My fever, which has slammed me since the morning is in full force – I’m not sure this is what should be called safe driving. If I make it through the next day’s rally, I’m calling it quits for at least a week.
Being locked in a steel cage with dozens of other people who have also been on the road for weeks is not healthy living. My colleague Marcus DiPaola follows Trump wherever he goes. I’m convinced that Marcus is slowly losing his mind. And I would too if the only person I had interaction with was Donald Trump. You may be tired of hearing Trump on TV, but poor schmucks like Marcus has to listen time and time again – and then watch the speech and take notes for the producers back at his home office. I just have to stare at his face and edit photos, while I blast M.I.A. Borders in the background.
Hartford ends up being a relatively uneventful rally – handful of protestors pulled from the arena but nothing to call home about. But honestly, I felt like Hunter Thompson walking through the Circus Circus Casino in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
It’s been a week now so I’ll be hitting the road again soon – so keep a look out for more photo dispatches from the campaign trail.
Pointing out a protestor in the crowd.