(psst. This is Part 2.  Did you miss Part 1?) I had run out of water and scream-rapping had left my throat raw. It was definitely a hindrance for the next forty minutes or so as I made my way to chat with some of the other folks I’d met at the DCMJ meetings. A crowd of maybe a hundred or so cannabis reform protesters slowly, peacefully dispersed as night crept on. Folks that had sang earlier went up for second performances when new volunteers were lacking. A man in a denim vest weaved his way through those left in a silent, manic dance. Around nine-thirty, when our numbers had dwindled to roughly two dozen, Adam Eidinger called for the protest to end. He thanked the police for being respectful of us but also questioned whether they would have a duty to investigate and possibly make an arrest if they smelled cannabis smoke coming from the White House. I think his point was that, if we had smoked, they sure as hell could have arrested us, and what separates us from those on the other side of that fence? Are we not all American citizens, bound by the same laws? Adam announced an open invite that they were going to walk the wagon back to the DCMJ headquarters and grab a bite along the way. Half of those remaining took their leave, but I decided to join them, Ubering back to my car later. Brandon Wyatt took lead of the Wagon, and we wound our way through the streets with him gleefully announcing to passersby over the dance music pouring from the speakers that we were part of the Choom Gang, President Obama’s smoke club from college. It was a surreal experience, like being on one of Kesey’s Freak Outs (you’ve read the Electic Kool-Aid Acid Test, right?). I laughed and pinballed my way through the group, front to back and again, as they all did the same, each according to their motives and the fascinating, unconscious urging of pack behavior. We ate at Pizzeria Paradiso on P Street.  They were very accommodating of our late-arriving and often fractured motley. Networking happened, and I was invited to a panel of BUD Summit exhibitors and organizers appearing on Blunted Radio (that was an awful lot of fun, by the way). The party disintegrated further as the meal was finished and the hour grew late. There were few people left on the streets when we remaining nine resumed our pilgrimage, so the music was abandoned for conversation. I spent most of the trip talking shop with one of the new budtenders at my dispensary, Herbal Alternatives. Somewhere above our heads, beyond the clouds that concealed them from our eyes, the Perseid meteors fell across the sky. DCMJ headquarters is tucked away along Embassy Row, an easily unnoticed rowhouse among the large, gated properties flourishing the brightly-colored flags and statuary of other nation’s statesmen. Eidinger's tobacco plants inconspicuously grow in a small patch out front. We make our way in through the garage, wheeling the soundwagon in behind us, and take seats at a long dinner table. Alex Jeffries from DC NORML pulls out a bag of gorgeous buds (Pineapple Kush, IIRC) donated by one of his members and the guys start rolling joints. I let him know that whoever grew that needs to get at me! Lively bullshitting ensues, except for Adam and his girlfriend, Natalie White, locked in a terse discussion of what she should expect on the inside of our criminal justice system. She’s the feminist artist and activist that marched to DC from NYC to painted “ERA NOW” on the Capitol steps recently to push for an Equal Rights Amendment for women to the Constitution (and also, this video.  It's NSFW, but so is this site, so I figure you're a grown up). The aftermath involved a negotiation to turn herself in willingly to the Capitol Police and tonight was the night. Some person at the Capitol Police had tried to tell her she could turn herself in later in the morning, but as it was Friday, we knew doing so would have kept her locked up throughout the weekend. Showing up for jail this evening would get her processed and out before that.  I refrained from eavesdropping on their counter-thread and after only a few minutes, they left to continue their discussion privately. We smoked to everyone’s satisfaction, beers were passed out, and a thin overlay of sexual tension in the atmosphere kept the party rolling. Folks wandered in and out. Adam & Natalie returned. The youngest guy there, who had sang Beastie Boys earlier, came in nervously to announce a party foul, a broken cup in the kitchen. As is customary, he was given due shit by one of the older guys to be certain the mess had been cleaned to standards. I tried not to giggle and give up the game too early, but was unsuccessful. It was a helluva time. Though I was new here, I truly felt a part of the group, and why not? We had taken a bold stance earlier that night, at the home of our President, together. Then the cops called. We had kept their dear prisoner later than was agreed upon. The festivities were wrapped up quickly as the first Uber was fetched, though the logistics would take at least ten minutes to work out between everyone. We were surprised to find another three protesters had made their way to HQ and were engaged in deep conversation outside. I stood around fretting like an anxious denmother as Natalie’s ride arrived, despite her accompaniment’s presence and plan to record her voluntary surrender on video. My intent to be present for every moment left me the odd man out of the car pools. As I waved goodbye and well wishes to everyone and prepared to call my own, Adam insisted on driving me back himself. We talked along the short drive, and I’ll betray nothing clearly told to me in confidence, except to mention that I gave him terrible, hilarious relationship advice he didn’t ask for, befitting my roles of instigator, lunatic, and scribe. It was such an incredible night. You could be a part of the next one, you know. March of the Clones is planned for Saturday, September 24th at 2pm. DCMJ intends for protesters to carry cuttings from Dupont Circle to the White House and ask again that our President take the steps necessary to legalize cannabis before his term ends. The Gentleman definitely recommends that you come out and join us.