I’d been sitting here, in this same couch, wondering for hours when it was going to hit. When would the tables be turned on the politics of passion which had been bogging down the political and commercial works for so many months now.
I couldn’t figure it would be long.
Now I’m back in that couch. Stinking of sweat and fresh earth. Blood and roses and thinking, was it worth it? Was the most likely broken bone in my hip, the still bleeding, despite the ice and beach towel wrapped tightly around it, bullet wound in my right hip worth the still uncertain outcome the last 24 hours? Especially since no one is ever likely to know it was me to got this new ball rolling?
It hurts, but I smile contentedly. Oh yes. Oh yes it will.