The Corner

White Knuckles

After conducting a little business in New York and Boston this week, I’m seated in a restaurant at Logan, where it’s raining so hard that visibility extends not much further than the platter of cherrystones I just ordered–and where my plane back to California has been delayed just long enough to ensure that I’ll miss the debate.

Six hours of not knowing.  I’ll be flying with white knuckles all the way.


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