Mike Wallace sits ramrod straight in his chair. His eyes twinkle. A hint of emotion plays at the edge of his mouth; it’s not humor, it’s not hunger. Raw anticipation, not free from malice but fueled by something grander.
His limpid lounge-singer’s eyes half-lidded gaze upon the stage of stiff, almost martial competitors. ‘Tonight,’ he thinks. ‘Tonight will be the night.’ Not just another facile primary debate. Tonight he would put an end to it all.
“This next question,” he begins, and pauses. Wallace licks his lips, obviously in anticipation. “This next question, is for all of the candidates.” Continue reading