There you go again, said a voice trying too hard to sound like Ronald Reagan in the throes of his American dreaming.
Don’t you ever knock? I snapped without looking up.
Nah! My friend dropped the Reagan bit. Don’t you know that in the post-9/11 world knocking’s for sissies?
Yeah, well, you know I love talking to you but Friday morning’s when I write my column, as you’re very well aware.
But that’s when you need me most, my friend. I’m your bullshit detector. Take that last column. You coulda used me on that one. I read that and had to shake my head. There you go again with the Bush Bashing. Don’t you know it’s a new day?
I turned and looked at him as he moved some papers and sat down in a spare wooden chair. He’d neatly bundled muscle and flab in red running shorts and red t-shirt that read Camelot Redux in green. His left hand held a Bloody Mary, complete with celery flag at full mast, no doubt liberated from my fridge. It was my glass he drank from, for sure.
Cheers, he said, as he lofted and sipped.
You celebrating something?
Yep, he said, smacking his lips. Renewal. The return of the King to the Wasteland. Excalibur. The King is dead, long live the King.
What are you talking about?
A world devoid of Dubya! New blood, brother! Slay the sacrificial beast.
You’re drunk, I said. How many of those have you had?
Jus’ the one? All right, two. I’m feeling good, that’s all. Had a nice run over here. Feels like springtime. Did you see the Obillary debate last night?
I saw it, sounded like the same old song-and-dance to me.
See, there you go, sounding old and cynical. What I bring to the table is the perspective of youth, my friend, and youth knows a new day’s dawnin’. Kids are turning out in droves at rallies, and the pollsters are missing it because they don’t call cell phone numbers.
Hah! I said. You’re every bit as old as I am. Look in the mirror.
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