Photo-Illustration: Tyler Comrie I watched the 2016 election returns at a friend’s co-op house in Brooklyn with dozens of millennial leftists. You can imagine the pitiful shape of the night: blasé confidence giving way to nervous titters to gallows humor to dread-filled silence. People cried. I got drunk and called my mom. The days that followed were filled with frenetic activity, urgency, and reevaluation. My girlfriend and I broke up; we were unhappy, and the rote hope that had sustained us