Here is an election-season story.

You drop your little rectangular window on the world and crack its glass. Then you drive your big machine far, too far, to where they fix little machines. You give your little window to the guy behind the counter (also full of windows), who seals it in a bag and shuts is in a drawer. You will be back in forty-five minutes. You wander through shoes and bedding. Cinnamon rolls and nose studs waft by. You go back and the window is still shut in the drawer, Oops we forgot, the guy says, the guy who is the We. You nod (he is polite and you are too) and go look at shiny things and buy a bracelet with a birdie on it for a dollar, and feel sort of like you got paid in another dimension for the time you’re wasting in this one. Then you go back. Same story, same freakin story. You are less polite this time. You are mad. You are walking. And out of the neon a Brookstone appears. The salesman is like an angel, yes of course you may try the Anti-Gravity 3-D Full Body Compression Shiatsu Experience. And you do, oh you do. After the first twenty minutes you become aware that you are in the front of the store, in the shop window, essentially on display, and that passing people are pointing and chuckling. The Anti-Gravity 3-D Full Body shifts you into an inverted recline and you do not care. You give the thumbs-up and wave them in. You have not returned some calls and texts and emails, you should do that now. And you sure would, if you had your little window. What is happening to your calves right now is the best thing to happen in the history of your calves. You register that it must be night, because the lights have grown brighter. Maybe–maybe–you don’t hate this place. Maybe, if you stay right here, shut the eyes, allow the gluteal rollers to do their sweet work, this could be all you ever wanted. And more.

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