"It's appropriately nasty out there." Carla spoke to a co-teacher,

who was also watching the leaning sideways rain pelting a column of raised-garden walls, bordering the sidewalk.  A motorcycle, sporting a wet flag displaying the rider's colors, roared its way along the drive.  Trouble - a student's father.  Oh, what did Meggie do this time?  Probably, nothing - really!  Poor kid, to have him, a Baldie, for an old man - the "motorcycle club" ... call it for what it is: GANG! was reputed to have had their flag-waving hands involved in the SecondStorm - a certain altercation which had taken place, within the us capitol complex, a few years prior to the Donald's administration.   

While the rain was no longer coming down heavy, the system was, evidently, trying to hang in, like an aging-out groupie.  Both educators, just stood there, gazing out the teachers' lounge window.  Behind them, Tritch, sat at a table, adding some finishing touches upon a little surprise, he had for his molecular biology class - a twenty question, short quiz.  That tubbaLARD was all smiles, evidently, per the news that came through the intercom.  The two women ignored him. 

The clock read 2:32pm, Carla's last class started at 2:40.  Out in the hallway, she rounded a corner, passed a row of lockers.  Several, near the end, had 8.5X11 sheets taped at eye-level.  Well, she had to credit the students, for their creativity.  The first one was a sketch of George Washington; underneath, a caption read "The Nation's First President." The following sketches, and respective captions, confirmed there were students who took their studies seriously.  The last sketch was Rowans; his caption read: "The Nation's Ugliest President."  Like or hate the man, about everyone agreed, Rowans was nothing to look at.   Taped above was a small US flag - and some right-winger slogan.  Carla made a mental note to report this violation against school policy - a safety issue, the lockers were not to have any objects hanging from them.

The election had been near a landslide.  Carla pushed from her mindspace, Rowan's image, and anything to do with the election.  She had a class to teach.  She rounded another corner; her room was but a few paces ahead.  "...Shut up, Timmy!" a girl's voice pushed back.  The boy, evidently, had found a new target.  Someone's cell buzzed; the call would be preempted, in about two seconds.