01 April 2008

22. Female Brooklyn Feminist And Speechwriter For Social Justice Non-Profits

It's the night before Hillary's "coronation" as President of the United States. We're in a sprawling hotel suite where her campaign staff all hectically prepare for her big moment. I've been invited to take part because Hillary liked a speech I wrote and she wants me to read it. I'm awed by her, the whole scene. When Hillary talks to me, I feel important. I ask, But how are you?

She yells, not unkindly, Terrible! I've had a terrible life! I'm miserable!!

It's what I most feared and there's not a thing I can do.

Next, I'm in another hotel suite. Barak Obama's aides bustle around him as he sits in a chair in the middle of the room, his head lowered and his hands covering his face. I realize he is about to be made Vice President and that's why he's sad; he really wanted to be President. This is torture for him. His shining aura has gone dim. He's in a shadow and locked there.

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