esquire.com – This was not without precedent. On Monday, I lost 1,000 community activists. When I arrived at the corner where they were supposed to congregate, there was nary a leaflet nor a teardrop on the sidewalk to suggest they had passed this way. My cab driver was a game sort, and we backtracked and fronttracked and wandered up side streets in fruitless pursuit. Because he was a gentleman, he did not suggest we continue our pursuit of protest to Sandusky, an hour to the west, but dropped me off instead at the by-then nearly deserted Public Square, Cleveland’s newly re-envisioned four-block central plaza and one of the city’s designated protest zones.