So McCain gets out and is looking around, and takes a scramble up a big mound of dirt we got nearby to have hisself a look-see. I wander up, he trounces on down, and we get to the talking. Train is going to be a while, so I invite all over to the temple for libations and shade. We had a big gladitorial festival beginning soon, and two of the fighters were getting warmed up. Both of them looked like members of the Fat Boys, just with Mullet's and bull's horns on their heads.
John starts talking about how this is indicative of America. Always battling itself, struggling to live up to its image, always doing as much damage to itself as it inflicts on its opponents. We agreed that Tuesday are terrible, but the whole moment came to the point of idealism vs. unwillingness, with your's truly in the former and the candidate select on the back end of the ersus. Our gladiatorials came around, and one happened to be a buddy of mine. I had to yell at him to keep fighting.
I wish the dream had a better ending, but what dreams do? Let me know. I'm voting O! Slow Show, by the National, is possibly one of the best songs I've heard in a long time. Since Funeral by Band of Horses.
Busy Busy Busy.