I Believe… [Geriatric Politics]
I believe… that the presidential race will look like two old men fighting over a parking spot for their matching Mercedes. The undercard should be Nancy Pelosi and Judge Judy wrestling in the grocery store over the last jar of pickles.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?