Wake up at three p.m. Feel the departure of all sorts -- killers, waitresses, presidents and children. A grey-haired man with an earring makes eye contact as he leaves. They've all spent the night in there, hanging out, poking around. You want them to tell you that they approve, that you'd make a fine leader of men, that you won't be subject to any of their terrible inquisitions, but they leave without a word.
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