The little floodlit podium swimming in front of him, gauze-edged like some beatific salvation until David pinched his eyes, rolled them dry in their sockets. Sitting at the end of the row with a palmful of malignant stubble that hadn’t been there earlier. A reporter behind him collapsed in full snore, the white of his throat shuddering while his phone flashed a square of bright and blue.
Somewhere in an antechamber the Tea Party was polishing bullshit talking points that he would dutifully report as if they would solve anything. He tried to find the capitol or a streetlight or anything of significance out the window but there was only the charcoal end of the day, glossy and exhausted. Standing, feeling a hungry queasiness and he had to shuffle with his hand on the back of the chairs like a drunk. There was hot water for tea at the rear of the room but no tea so he sat back down in his empty row. What the hell’s the use if this country can’t even afford goddamned tea? Continued…
