It was the night before, and I snuck into his tent. He
stirred up from under his foil blanket. His voice was quiet, seemingly resigned
to his fate.
“So are you finally here to cash in on keeping me alive?”
“Kinda.”
He sighed and lifted the blanket. I shook my head and
instead tossed a notebook at him.
“What is this?”
“Your lines.
In the morning you’re going to get up on that overturned bus
and you’re going to give that speech, and turn this collection of survivors
into a society.”
He gave a performance worth, oh, an Emmy, maybe…
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