That meant more protesting, especially around the palace, where 50,000 people are in a shantytown of shacks and the president remains wildly unpopular.
In front of the palace, a few dozen angry protesters demanded his exit, threw rocks and overturned trash bins to create barricades. Today's was a dangerous but meager crowd, notable mostly for who wasn't there.
Tear gas is par for the course. Rubble dodging, nearly sport. Inside a honeycomb of handmade houses, women and children are now inured to the insanity.
Eight-year-old Fritznel kicked around a half-deflated ball. Long-abandoned fountains, 2 feet deep, are the soccer field of choice in Champ de Mars.
When suddenly a fight broke out and the crowd approached, he hopped out of the fountain and slipped quietly, like the ghost of a happier child, into his family's aluminum shack.
"Why did you stop playing?"
"To avoid my feet being broken," he says.
I first met Fritznel in August, "I'm almost 9 now," he's quick to remind me. And despite the near-constant unrest and calamity nearby -- "I've lost count of all the protests," says a neighbor -- not much has changed for him or his three sisters.
He shows me into his home.
"What happens when it rains?" I ask Fritznel.
"We get rained on," he says.
Five-year-old Patricia and 7-year-old Lovely, two of his sisters, spend all their days the same way -- playing, watching, running, hiding; playing, watching, running, hiding.
"I don't have any toys," says Patricia, unprompted.
She doesn't have a house, really, or a bed, either. But these are the priorities of children.
"When you come here again, bring a little purse. And a doll," she says.
Micheline Christoph, their mother, was selling bottles of water six months ago to support the family but ran out of inventory and, swiftly, money as well.
"We had to eat," she said of her meager profits.
The family moved to Champ de Mars from Village de Dieu, where their house collapsed. The children say their father is dead, but Micheline says he is merely "gone." Same difference, they all say with their eyes.
When we met in August, Micheline was reticent to talk politics. Women in Haiti are often less informed, less confident and more cautious to share their views.
Where men in Haiti run hot and ready for battle, women set themselves on a survivor's pace -- slow and steady wins the race.
But another six months in, and Micheline's family has little to show for it. "You might have more to say now, huh?" I ask, with a grin.
Micheline falls apart in unselfconscious laughter, as the war drums beat nearby and gunshots ring out above us. "Yeah, now I can answer you."
She knows there are few misfortunes greater than hers, though some.
"These kids don't have a father," she says, "but a lot of kids don't have a father or a mother. They don't have anywhere to stay."
If she were in charge, she says, she'd find homes for the homeless.
Of politics, she says, "The power belongs to the people. And only the people can give you power."
Other women in the neighborhood are divided on the usefulness of protest, though. Especially where every real issue has been co-opted by violence.
"No, it's not a solution," says Carmelite, 46. She would never take to the streets herself, she says.
"We believe in God and we believe God can turn things around."
I also met 40-year-old Vierge Dely in August. She told me then, of politicians, "Lave men siye ate. You wash your hands, then wipe them on the ground."
As she watched the men run around her neighborhood today, she sat, unshaken, next to her basket of candies and cookies. She says she is throwing her hat into the ring with presidential candidate Michel Martelly, not the female candidate, Mirlande Manigat.
"I don't know if she's going to succeed," she said.
Getting away while carrying a basketful of merchandise isn't hard, she tells me.
"I just grab it, put it on top of my head and run with it."
None of Micheline's five children has ever been to school, but her daughter, Lovely, says instead of a purse to carry her belongings, she'd like a book bag.
"I already have a bag to go to school," Fritznel says. "But I didn't get to go yet. Will you bring me a soccer ball?"