You know what the worst part about this is? It’s the party they’re having in the West Wing right now at my expense. They like to win, and then they like to gloat. I’m sure you’re wrong. There are very serious men and women at the White House. There’s no cause to gloat.
“I have such an impulse to knock your heads together. I can’t remember the last time I heard you two talk about anything other than how a campaign was playing in Washington. Cathy needed to take a second job so her dad could be covered by her insurance. She tried to tell you how bad things were for family farmers. You told her we already lost Indiana. You made fun of the fair but you didn’t see they have livestock exhibitions and give prizes for the biggest tomato and the best heirloom apple. They’re proud of what they grow. Eight modes of transportation, the kindness of six strangers, random conversations with twelve more, and nobody brought up Bartlet versus Ritchie but you. I’m writing letters, on your behalf to the parents of the kids who were killed today. Can I have the table, please?“