The morning I wake up. Dad already has the papers on
the front porch table. He has been doing one side of the street while I am
doing the other.
My dad seems confused. At first he says Bush. He then
stumbles and says, I mean Clinton.
For the first time since I was three years old there
is a democrat in the White House.
Just like my cross-country season, the person whom I
had invested emotional energy in to win got dogged.
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