Men without hats

Chuck and TJ are lying back on a pair of hay bales, taking a break from working the land, somewhere deep in Nebraska. An unforgiving sun beats down on their craggy, lined faces but, that's alright, they're quite used to the weather; they've doing this stuff for more than three decades. TJ's on a roll.

"Yeah, you shudda seen them, man. Thousands of 'em. It was all over the news. All in their pink hats an' all. I couldn't take my eyes off 'em, all of these women - it was nearly all women - walking through the big city streets, singin' and dancin' an' everything. Those hats, man! Wow!"

"Sounds cool, man." Chuck seems impressed. He chews on a straw. "What were they doin' it for, exactly?"

"You know, man. They don't like Trump, man. Can't stand him. Think he's a fool. An' you know what, man? Just by lookin' at 'em in their hats an' stuff, I've come to see they're right. Trump's a total idiot and I really regret voting for him."

"Yeah, man - I hear ya. I hear ya. When did you start to change your mind about your vote?"

"I can't remember exactly - it was either that bit when Madonna was singing like a drunken aunt at a late-night karaoke or when Alicia Keys started preachin' at everybody about equality before heading back off to her gated mansion in the hills. It was all so cool, man."

"Yeah - right, dude, really cool. So, obviously, all those rich pop stars, actors and actresses are gonna be givin' lots of their money away to poor people in the name of equality, then? That's really great man. You godda love those guys."

"Er, yeah, obviously - they must be givin' loads o' bucks away, dude. They couldn't be so hypocritical as to talk like that and keep it all, could they? Imagine that."

They chuckle quietly to themselves.

"Hey, man, the more you talk, the more I really wish Trump wudda lost. We really were fools to have voted for him. All those protesting people, man, they've really opened my eyes. Changed my way o' thinkin', you know? God bless 'em. Hey, TJ - d'ya think we can get a couple of those pink hats delivered out here? I really wanna pink hat, man. You know, just to us feel equal an' everything."

"I'll get us a coupla hats, man. Count on it."

Chuck and TJ get slowly to their feet, and, on the count of three, sling the first of the long afternoon's hay bales onto the back of the trailer. The sun beats down.