Drop the Bomb Anyone
I promised I wouldn’t listen to Comey’s investigative hearing today, but I find myself leaving the distant, imaginary world of my novel, for an alternative universe of men nattily dressed in suits and ties, abiding by uniform investigative rules. Though Comey is polished for his audience, his countenance is less than crisp. Telltale signs of wearisome days preparing for this moment in front of the Senate Intelligence Committee I’m sure is the root of his puffy eyes. Here in New York, the city seems unusually quiet and I image people glued to their televisions, laptops, and cell phones waiting for some major declaration from James Comey. Like some major holiday, restaurants and bars update their menus with dishes and drinks with befitting names -Drop the Bomb, Covfefe Coffee, FBI Sandwiches, and some other imaginative appellations.
Will Comey’s testimony make an impact? Personally, I doubt it. But I’ll be surprised if days of trumpery, are done. Hmmm . . . Trumpery . . . just one of the many words and terms expounded this administration, along with dystopia, equivocate, demagogue, kerfuffle, populism, fake news, recuse, collusion, and covfefe and scif (Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility) and the list goes on. Okay, it’s time to get back to my imaginary world where I choose the outcome of my characters. In the real world, I’m just one of the many waiting for a few to draw a conclusion—a conclusion many have already made. Isn’t it obvious?