She slapped the binder open. “Page one: self-serve soda. A child could theoretically pour four refills. That is over 100 grams of sugar. That is anarchy.”

When her name was called, Marcia strode to the podium like a soldier advancing on Gomorrah.

Leslie Knope, sitting at the council table, raised a hand. “Mrs. Langman, it’s a cup with a three-ounce limit.”

“Unsupervised sugar delivery,” she hissed to her husband, Gerald, who nodded solemnly, clutching a small crucifix.

Marcia Langman adjusted her lavender cardigan, her lips a thin, disapproving line. She had a mission. The Pawnee City Council meeting was about to begin, and she had a binder full of signatures, a heart full of righteous fury, and a list of seventeen specific objections.

Marcia gasped, clutching her pearls. “Mr. Swanson, I have a pamphlet on the moral decay of libertarianism. I’ll leave it on the table.”