Scanlon had worked all afternoon on his piece for the Oregonian, but goddamnit, he couldn’t find an angle. Neither anarchy theorists nor Proudhon and the Mutualists were suitable for a newspaper feature. He needed on-the-ground research, primary sources, the street-level perspective that colleagues sitting in their offices at Princeton would never have. The kind of details that would impress even Sam Belknap. When they finished dinner, Geoff took Sammy on his shoulder to the RV to watch Baby Mozart anime on satellite from Japan. Naomi was too exhausted to even put up a fight. She flipped past several channels of live news from downtown Douglas before settling for a rerun of Friends. During a commercial, Scanlon snatched the remote from her lap and switched to the demonstrations: two girls with scraggly wet hair and black sweatshirts were being cuffed with plastic zip strips. “I talked to Rachel,” Naomi said. The cops gripped the girls’ arms, loading them into a paddy wagon. Scanlon chomped on corn chips from the oily takeout bag.
