I’m at one of the legendary establishments of Northwest Indiana. My buddy is quickly becoming a rising star in local political circles & we’re celebrating primary victories this evening.
The funny thing is the guy footing my drinks is a staunch Republican from Massachusetts. And he’s not a career politician. Just a humble “prostitute” who sells linens. His #1 client just happens to be up the road. No, he doesn’t know a soul in the room.
Another cosmic coincidence. I’ve been beeblebroximg across them lately with frequency.
Anyway, the salesman seems to be a great guy. Reminds me of what conversations with my father could have been like. In political worlds, I wasted a good 30 minutes of glad-handing. But, to me, it was worth it. When the salesman from Massachusetts wakes up early in the AM (now THAT’s when it really all hurts the most) to golf with clients, he won’t think of me. It’s probabaly because at this point he doesn’t remember his embelishments or his other evening’s Willy Loman hamartias (thank you, Wikipedia). The hangover will be the novicaine to get him through the day.
And, for him, I’ll try to be the generation’s Vonnegut. Massachusetts Willy remembers Dresdin as though it were yesterday.
I smile and say a prayer for Massachusetts Willy. And for Dresdin. Hopefully Tat’s right and moments are that flexible. Somehow I find courage within that because that’d mean Massachusetts Willy hasn’t fully escaped reality. Which means there’s hope.
Speaking of hope, I can hear my buddy gregariously working the room from all the way over here on this deck swing. I should go harmonize with his melody. And grab my iced tea.
My grandfather would roll over in his grave if he heard this many Beatles songs at a political event. He’d probabaly quip about the night missing chocolate cake in a bag.
Does the evening sound this bittersweet to you too?
PS-I didn’t bring the iPad to try and blog. This was done from my iPhone. I’ll try again w/ the iPad tomorrow.
