louisehourcade Chapter 239 - 124: An Egg with No Cracks (Part 2)
Chapter 239 - 124: An Egg with No Cracks (Part 2)
"But governing..." Leo shook his head. "Governing is like planting rice in a swamp. You’re bent over, your feet are covered in mud, and you’re constantly worried about leeches biting your legs."
Sarah laughed.
She casually tied her long hair back and popped an onion ring into her mouth.
"Oh, come on, Mr. Mayor. You’re a big shot now. Just yesterday, my cousin who’s in real estate asked if I could get your autograph. He said getting his daughter a spot in that public daycare is harder than getting into Harvard."
Sarah’s tone was teasing.
"But I miss those days, too. Back then, we had nothing. We were in that beat-up prefab office, feeling like we could change the world. Now we actually are changing the world, and instead, we just feel tired."
"The endless, trivial tasks really do grind away your passion."
The alcohol seemed to have loosened Ethan up a bit.
"That’s the price of power, everyone." Ethan took a sip of his beer. "When I was in Washington, I saw a lot of passionate young people. They’d have this light in their eyes when they first got to Capitol Hill. Two or three years later, that light was gone."
"They become the very bureaucrats they used to hate, only caring about procedures and rules."
"At least Leo hasn’t changed," Ethan said, looking at Leo. "The way he slammed the table in Moretti’s office—still the same old asshole."
Everyone laughed.
Karen didn’t laugh. She held her glass, her gaze distant.
"I don’t want to be a downer," Karen said, swirling the liquid in her glass, "but I have to say, my life is a complete mess right now. For this campaign, I haven’t been back to my apartment in Washington for three months."
"Yesterday, my neighbor called and told me she thinks my cat might be depressed, because it started peeing on my pillow."
"That means it misses you," Sarah said comfortingly.
"No, it’s protesting," Karen sighed. "It knows better than I do that I’m married to my job. My ex-husband left because he couldn’t stand me answering emails in the middle of the night."
"Sometimes I wonder, what are we working ourselves to death for, trying to get Murphy into the Senate? So he can perform on a bigger stage? Or is it to prove something to ourselves?"
"To win."
Leo’s answer was crisp.
"We’re gamblers, Karen. A gambler doesn’t care how they spend the money after they win. A gambler only cares about the moment of victory."
"Besides," Leo glanced at Karen, "your cat will forgive you, as long as you bring it the best canned food when you go back."
"I hope so." Karen gave a wry smile and raised her glass. "To my cat."
"To the cat."
Four glasses clinked together.
After a few rounds, the warm camaraderie began to fade, replaced by the cold reality of their situation.
They had come here to relax, but a part of their minds could never truly switch off.
This was the fate of a campaign team.
As long as the ballot boxes weren’t closed, the war wasn’t over.
"We should get back to discussing how to take votes from Warren."
Leo put down his glass, the bottom clinking softly against the tabletop.
The mood at the table didn’t grow heavy at the change of topic; instead, there was a palpable excitement.
Everyone knew that in the current situation, attacking their intra-party rival, Aston Monroe, was the worst possible move. It would be a suicidal act, a violation of the Washington Peace Agreement.
The only path forward was to take on the toughest nut to crack—Russell Warren.
Leo took Sarah’s tablet and pulled up a voter distribution map of Pennsylvania.
"Look at this map."
Leo pointed to the large red area in the middle of the map, the vast territory sandwiched between the two blue islands of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh.
"This is Warren’s turf, the so-called Pennsylvania Wilderness. It’s home to millions of white, blue-collar workers, farmers, and miners."
"They’re the Republican Party’s ironclad stronghold."
Karen pushed up her glasses. "The data shows that voters in these areas have a deep-rooted aversion to the Democratic Party. They believe the Democrats only care about gender issues and illegal immigrants, not whether they live or die."
"Warren could do nothing at all, and as long as he gets on TV every few years to bash the liberals, he’ll walk away with 70% of the vote here."
"Exactly. It’s a fixed mindset."
Leo’s finger slid across the screen.
"We have to see what’s underneath all that red."
"Do they vote for Warren because they truly love and respect a Senator who’s been riding around Washington in luxury cars for thirty years? No. They vote for him because they think he’s one of them, or at least, that he’s not one of those high-and-mighty Philadelphia elites."
"But that kind of loyalty, the kind based on cultural identity, is fragile when faced with hunger."
Leo looked up, his gaze burning with intensity as he looked at his team members.
"We need to tell the voters in those deep-red counties that Senator Warren makes a lot of noise in Washington about being anti-abortion and anti-gun control. But he’s the one who voted for the trade agreements that moved your factories overseas, and he’s the one who voted against the bill that would have increased your healthcare subsidies."
"He used patriotic slogans to get your vote, then turned around and sold you out to Wall Street."
"And Murphy, that Democrat you hate? He’s not perfect, but he’s the one who actually brought money to fix your roads and contracts to give you jobs."
"If we can just make them see that logic," Leo clenched his fist, "then we’ll have a chance to crack Warren’s base."