The sun rose on the 20th of January. Most of the world already had its day, but America was only waking up. Cordial pleasantries at the White House; an awkward gift. One taking leave, the other measuring the windows. Cameras, cables, notebooks and assault rifles gathered at important points. A long day lay ahead.

Flowers were arranged, security, logistics. Tea, empty gestures between the old and the new. Their wives smiling in discomfort. Two stories: a ceremony planned and paid for; an emotional Armageddon painted on every face. Of course a third also, on the streets.

Hundreds of pairs of feet, covered in shoes of all colours and sizes. Left-right left-right. Signs were lifted and held up in front of cameras. Chants rang through the city.

A man lifted his right hand, placed his left on The Word of God. A gunshot echoed in another part of the city. Bang! The protesters ran. “I Donald John Trump do solemnly swear.” Teargas. Chaos. Violence. “That I will faithfully execute the office of president of the United States.” Left-right, right-right, right-left, left-right. Clashes. Protestors. Police. “And will to the best of my ability preserve, protect and defend the constitution of the United States.” More bangs, clashes. Vandalism. Assault. Arrest. “So help me God.”

The streets calmed and the ceremony died. Back to business. The first thing to do is to undo all that was done. A sudden crack on political dissent. Petty replies to criticism. Barks at difficult questions. The rise of wisecracks. The White House a reality set. Substance was shown the door first.