"Takin' It To The Streets"

"I'm mad as hell, and I'm..."

"Not going to take it anymore...yes, of course," I said drolly. This was becoming tiresome.

"But I really am. I'm ready. It's been so long."

"Four years."

"Four long years. I'm ready."

"I'm sure you are. You should have thought of that before," I said, and began packing up the assorted papers and file folders I'd spread across John's desk. The piles of papers and folders and documents and magazines already heaped thereon made it hard to tell which papers were mine and which were his.

"That's mine," John said.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"I told you I'm ready to do something. What are we going to do?"

"What would you like to do?" I said, sighing and sitting back down, briefcase closed upon my lap. The crimson Mont Blanc pen turned over and over in his hands.

"Something. I'm going to quit. And tell the media. I've had enough of the lies, the deception, the sheer callousness..."

"Yes, well... I have to advise against that."

"Would you?"

"Yes. It would be. Unwise. The people are counting on you."

"Exactly. That's why..."

"You'd only find yourself alone. Ostracized. Jobless. Is that what you want?"

"Yes! I mean...no, not really," John looked sad, and conflicted, and I realized that he had told the truth the first time -- like Garbo, he wanted to be alone... but he wanted it to happen to him...not to happen because of his own actions.

"There are always consequences," I said. "Every action is a decision, especially when you can predict the outcome. What will you decide to do today?"

"I don't know yet. I have a lot of work to do."

"Don't we all." We locked eyes for a moment, and then he looked away, put on his half-moon reading glasses and pointed the pen along the lines of some report or another. But in that brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of the fire that so many saw in him, and then the restless anger I'd grown to know so well in these past few months, through the election and its aftermath. I'd seen him pace hotel rooms like a caged animal and stood a lonely guard as he rocked back and forth, head in his arms between shots of Dewars from the honor bar. I'd seen all this, and still did what I had to do: Make him stay. Make him carry on.

"You can go now," he said.

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