Toxin

think. The kind that button-holes you on the Capitol steps and doesn’t let go until you either get into a car or get rude. Beyond his right ear, just to the left of his moving mouth, the instrument of this momentary torture, I caught a glimpse of my driver pulling up to the curb. I forced my eyes open to full alert and made my own mouth move. “Gotta go,” I said, interrupting him. “My ride’s here.”
I slipped into the car wondering if every congressman and senator was as annoyed by these guys as I was. I have been in the Senate for almost two years now, and my disdain—no, my contempt—for these bastards has not diminished a bit, not a single iota. It’s all about money, money, and more money. It’s a child’s pretend game