Posted on 10/31/2010 12:12:56 PM PDT by Libloather
The other day, I went out on an errand. I departed from the light rail station and set off down a path to a shopping area.
Right ahead of me was a youngish man, not too tall. He didn't have on a backpack and a cap (as his sort usually do), but was wearing a pullover sweater and blue jeans. His demeanor, however, was exactly the same as that of his brethren: he shuffled along, looking at the ground. Furtive. He didn't stride confidently ahead: his gait was a hesitating lope.
Right at the edge of the shopping area was a low metal fence. There was a path to the left, around it. This fellow, however, didn't take the path: he planted a hand on the rail and quickly vaulted over, then went to the back door of a fast-food restaurant whose front window faced the street. He knocked on the door until someone let him in.
I thought: He got into this country the same way he got past that fence at the edge of the shopping area.
I made a mental note of the name of the restaurant. They hire illegal aliens. Not a place to patronize.
Do you suppose this fellow will be voting on Tuesday?
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