Spent the morning and the early afternoon writing and laying out THE AUDACITY OF DOPE, a multi-part story about the rise of a drugsman lawyer to political power and about his imminent demise. (Any resemblance to persons living or in danger of dying is purpose incidental. Sorry, co-incidental. Did I say ‘incidental’? Freudian slip.)
|'Y'all win, already?'|
Played a game with the yellow shirts on my way in.
“Y’all win already?” I asked facetiously (but in extremely good humor, if I may say so myself).
“Not sure,” King supporters groaned. “It might be close…not sure.”
“Not yet,” said Chastanet supporters smiled. “But it’s coming just now.”
Popped the question to about 30 people. Result: Less than one third of them groaned. More than two-thirds smiled.
There was no actual suspense. In the hours of waiting for the election officers to count and recount the results, people talked enough to know what the approximate outcome would be. But given their recent history, many Flambeaus were still doubtful about whether they still had the capacity to do the right thing without John Compton there to hold their hands and make the ti kwa for them.
|Dale, Angel says stay out of that!|
The Castries Central posse occupied the entrance closest to stage right. The King supporters consolidated themselves in the center row. There really were just about less than 100 of them, sticking together like nerdy, little Spartans with the shields locked together as Xerxes troops surrounded them.
There never was any hope of winning for them. They were surrounded from the start.