The Highest Office

(Continued from Quattra Catharsis. See The Trial throughline.)

Our meeting was kept secret, away from pining ears, the usual handlers, secret service, Michelle.
"There's a broad spectrum of real estate," the pres started, "you needn't limit yourself to sixty years of interest. Our markets require broader stimulus."

"I like the 1870's too," I fired back defensively.

The leader of the free world continued, "a man shouldn't live in times gone by, lest the shackles of the past become the restrains of the present."

"Last I checked your crib was in Kenwood, not Schaumberg, " I volleyed, no longer wide-eyed and retiring.

"True," he paused, before a change in tone, "you know what I dislike? When windows are set into walls, without any decorative treatment..."

"Moldings," I interrupted.

"Exactly, it looks like a shadow box, or a picture without a frame."

"Precisely," I nodded.

"Now this business with the quattrefoil, are you in continued danger, have you adequate health care coverage?"

"An HMO."

"I've been reading the blog, I'm a bit concerned."

"Judge not my entries as wahnbriefe," I asserted, "but as ubermensch-ian pursuit, inoculation, reconstitution."

"Reform," he questioned softly.

"Perhaps," I offered, "but first I'm going to kick some pre-cast ass!"