Last week, thousands of Canadians stood on the side of the road, many in subzero temperatures, gazing into the cold abyss of tundra — waiting, hoping, that their boys, the so-called deplorables would emerge before dusk. They watched the foggy horizon intently, conspicuously, with waving flags and prepared foods, hoping to catch a glimpse of men in their overalls and wellingtons, sitting behind their wheels with their bad knees and aching backs, with soot-covered faces, with the windows rolled down, pumping their fists with one hand while steering to their glorious destination with the other.
