It almost robs me of my cynicism:
In the thousands they came Saturday, alone or as families, bundled against the arctic cold, jumping, waving, and screaming out as the silver train with the blue caboose whizzed by. In their hands they held posters, magazine covers, cameras, flags and hand-made signs. "Fired Up," said one. "We Did It," went another. "Happy Birthday Michelle," read a third. A scattered few stood with toddlers clutching a pant leg, the bundled children learning what it's like to watch history happen...
All along the train route, police cordoned off bridges and underpasses, stringing yellow police tape to hold back the onlookers, who sometimes gathered by the hundreds, and sometimes by the handful. ...
Most people could only see Obama's train for a matter of seconds. It rarely slowed, and Obama only stepped outside the caboose to wave on a few occasions. But none of this seemed to dent the enthusiasm of the crowds. They cheered as if the train was coming to see them, as if Obama's victory had been their victory, and it was only now just beginning. For miles and miles, for people in dress coats and work clothes, it was the same--Americans literally jumping for joy over a president who has changed his country without yet taking office.
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