My walk from Union Station to St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, only a few blocks from the Capitol, takes me past the headquarters for the Heritage Foundation. These are the people who repackaged George W. Bush from nepo-baby frat-boy to a statesman. They dream up legislation to dump us into the Dark Ages. They are worse than Trump and Elon because Trump and Elon would have no power without them. I tend to flip the building off as I walk past.

Wednesday, the last day of Tech Week, I saw something on the approach that confused me. was a parka, hunched over, on a stool. As I passed by, I noted that the parka was female, and she was carrying a skillfully painted sign that said, “I will not be complicit.”

I walked by and made it to the end of the block before I decided I was going back. But first, I wanted to do something nice in this 25-degree weather. (In metric, that translates to “absolute zero.”) I returned to the Heritage Foundation with a cup of black coffee, which, it turned out, she drinks as is. We chatted for about a minute, and I thanked her. She would be there, she said, seven days a week, eleven to six.

I stopped by Thursday at about noon, but she wasn’t there. I was disappointed, but my life wasn’t over. It’s enough that I met her. She has inspired me. I think I’ve fallen a little bit in love with this tiny, resilient person, sitting in the Arctic cold, forcing these conservative douchebags to walk around her.

I didn’t expect to see the protestor there on Saturday, when the foundation was closed, but there she was. It was a few degrees above absolute zero, but it was still cold, so I grabbed a black coffee and strolled over to her.

She didn’t recognize me because I was wearing a different jacket, but she appreciated the coffee. We talked, a little longer this time, and I learned that she is hardcore. She understands that she comes from a place of privilege, which allows her to quit her job and sit there full-time. Until the people in this building are gone, she isn’t going to participate in this fascist-capitalistic system. I’ll be honest, I find that naïve, but I admire her conviction.

There have been monstrous protests all over the touristy parts of DC since the election, doubly so since the president and his master started goose-stepping around the Oval Office, throwing oppressive executive orders around like confetti. She told me she could go to any one of them, but her calling placed her here.

I asked her if it would be okay if I hung out with her for a couple of hours here and there. She looked at me like I recited a cookie recipe at her in Esperanto. She sputtered for a moment and told me of course. She could use the company. She told me that, the other day, five people stood with her.

I had to go catch up with my ex-roomie, and without my watch, I wasn’t sure what time it was. I introduced myself, and she replied with “I’m Ember.” I told her it’s a beautiful name, and that seemed to make her uncomfortable. I feel bad about that, but to be fair, it is a beautiful name.

Sunday, after a late Saturday, I decided I wanted to protest. At eleven a.m., I caught the Metro to Union Station and walked to the Great Satan’s lair, but she wasn’t there. I really do want to protest, so I plan on stopping by this week. Even if she’s never there again, she affected my life profoundly. She makes me want to resist.