I stumbled upon a protest in the  middle of Rome, after making the decision to get lost in the center of Rome. Rachel lives in Monti, the Williamsburg of Rome for associations sake. I ran to the Coliseum, and it being a Saturday found the crowd overwhelming. Turning left I wound along with the traffic a bit higher. A woman sat on the sidewalk giving out pieces of sandwich to her five children. I imagine they were hers, and when I went running by they all stooped to look at me. One of the girls, standing closest to me, had wide gray eyes like a cartoon of a child. Her hair was stuck to her face. I felt her looking right through me, seeing my American idiosyncrasies swimming inside of me. I am exactly what she saw, whatever it was.

Protests here are causes for celebrations. Like a birthday or holiday party, you can be sure to see all of your friends. It is an excuse for an early pre-game, a meet-up at which you can have a march and a shout in costume and face paint, perhaps don an emblematic banner as a cape, and join in a just cause. The particular march I attended circumvented the better part of the city and was in support of unions and their benefits for workers. The colors are red and yellow and it seems all ages showed up for the event. I felt like a party crasher, but wonder if I would have been invited if I had only asked.