Standing in the Redford Conference Room at City Hall, Carl Harding thought quietly to himself: Not bad for a kid from Oyster Bay. He was awaiting the outcome of the election, hand-in-hand with his wife, while scanning the room of constituents before him. His wife’s expression spoke confidently about her feelings on the matter. Addressing the Chrystal meth problem earlier that year had been a tactful public relations move, resulting in unwavering support from the community. His leadership on the case had earned him a reputation as a pragmatic and resourceful trial lawyer, something of a rarity in Potter County. His presence during the initial trial hearings had shown not only a strong vitality, but also an inclination for sensing when the truth was being told and when it wasn’t. He could see the quivering lip of a dishonest man on the stand just as easily as he could sense the truth in the tone of another’s voice. His profession was his identity, and he was one of the finest.
A young clerk brought him a delicately wrapped Remy Martin as he pulled a JL Salazar cigar from his suit pocket, placing it casually in to his mouth. He chose not to light it, knowing that it would breathe best once the results weren’t just statistical projections. He had been the odds-on favorite for the office of District Attorney during the majority of his campaign, even as a New York born Democrat. He stood calmly, trying not to shuffle in his Georgio Brutini’s as a string of local auto commercials made an obnoxious fuss on the television. The results were moments away from being announced over the air. He thought about his time at Denison and the foolishness that had consumed most of his undergraduate studies. He recalled the cavernous apartment in rural North Carolina, and the work he had done for the Outer Banks Monitor. He thought about the exhausting hours on the 2nd floor of the legal library at the University of Houston, and the massive volumes of terminology and court cases he had absorbed during those two short years. He remembered the time he had spent as a law clerk for a lawyer who was later convicted of embezzling money. He thought about the move to Amarillo and how the opportunity, while it had seemed bleak at first, had given him a home and a job as an Assistant District Attorney. It had also led him to his wife, whom had not only been a voice of support, but also rounded the image of his campaign. No, he thought, Not bad for a kid from Oyster Bay at all. As the county commissioner had the results placed before him by a floor member of the KAMM news team, Carl took note of all the people in the room, deciding that it would be most practical to begin thanking people in the left wing for their continuous support and belief in him. This was just the beginning, he thought. He had a skill, a profession, a passion, a wife who believed in him, and an image that was regarded highly by the voting public. He had what it took and he knew it. The commissioner congratulated both parties on their impressively put together campaigns and proceeded with the announcement. Both his name and that of his opposition were emboldened in the upper right corner of the television set. And as the commissioner’s expression shifted, the results were read aloud over the KAMM airwaves. Carl lit his Salazar and took down the Remy Martin. Anything, he thought. Anything. Anything to help numb him to this new wound, as Mike Martin (51% Winner) -----Carl Harding (49%) flickered endlessly upon the screen.
Bob Schneider - Let The Light In
Foo Fighters - Walking After You
Sun Kil Moon -Glenn Tipton
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