Sitting in the lobby with Will Drake and Vaughtreaux waiting on The General.
Bad moon rising. Fear stalks the campaign like a rabid mongoose.
Radio silence from Little Rock. Senior staff all advised him to quit last night. He overruled them.
There is a path to daylight but not with this staff, this message and so broke they can’t quit for a few days. Victory in Tennessee is the only slim hope. Our direct intervention at every level the only slim hope for that slim hope. Little hope for that.
The hog is in the tunnel. Driven there by The Fear. Never take counsel of your fears spake Stonewall Jackson. Smart man he.
Edwards here in the same hotel. His staff still riding the rush that accompanies the successful execution of an end around, Hail Mary, flea flicker, double lateral for a touchdown with double zeros on the clock. Their brutal comeuppance will come soon enough.
This thing is almost over. I needed to smell it up close. So, at midnight, the gauntlet was thrown down. Drake was rousted from his slumber and manhandled into the back seat of my truck.
But maybe it’s not over. And there is the rub.
I will soon tell my children that if they can find something that makes them feel this alive – they should do that thing to the exclusion of all other endeavors.