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Howard was disappointed--he hadn't got one write-in vote on Super Tuesday. His wife told him he should have spoken more about issues of substance rather than ducking issues he was uncomfortable with . . .
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Once again, with their red MAGA hats, hopeful rally participants lined up early hoping to get in to see the president and hear his speech . . .
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Lucy May was tired of having to explain to fools that just didn't listen: She was not an upholsterer recovering sofas and car seats, but a pollster, trying to see who was where in the ranks of politicians running for office . . .
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Jerry was glad the election day was over. "Sure," he said, "you have to elect someone for the job, but between emails from candidates, TV ads, all the signs and the candidates themselves "pressing the flesh," I am ready for a break . . ."
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When Lucy Mae's dates asked what she did for work, she told them she was in political logistics-- a pollster . . .
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The preppers, concerned about the outcome of the impeachment proceedings and the spreading of the coronavirus, decided the only sane thing to do was just dig in and hunker down. And there was always some wise guy saying, "I can dig it" who mostly just leaned on his shovel . . .
