Attorney General Jefferson Beauregard Sessions III should be having the time of his life right now. Instead, he’s locked the bathroom door and is hugging himself, rocking slowly back and forth in the shower. “Nobody loves me,” he sobs as water runs over him.
There’s never been a better time in the last 50 years to be a good ol’ boy like J.B.3 in Washington, yet the AG is miserable. So what happened?
It seemed like an ideal setup. Jeff was born in a swamp, and his BFF is the human embodiment of same. When his pal got a promotion and asked him to be America’s #1 lawman, Jeffy felt like a kid on Christmas, he really did. But it all went sideways fast.
First he had to recuse himself over a meeting or three that were hardly worth mentioning. This made his friend very, very upset. Hurtful things were said, and Sessions felt like he’d messed up things real bad. He tried to make up for it by giving his friend a special gift, but that backfired too. There was more yelling. He offered to resign, not that he was taken up on the offer.
That gift, it turned out, keeps on giving. Now folks are saying he may be hiding more secrets. Everyone ignores eye contact in hallways and conversation dies when he gets on the elevator. When the talking heads on the teevee deign to discuss him, they make a faces like they’re smelling a rotten egg. His friend doesn’t invite him out to lunch at his golf resort any more. Jeff feels like such a loser.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, he sighs as he turns off the shower. He’s still wearing his suit and tie. He doesn’t bother grabbing a towel. It’s a stunning turn of events for the elfin creature who has come so far since he emerged from the mosquito-choked fen. You the reader may feel only scorn from your safe remove, but Jeff? Jeff feels… whatever the American word for ennui is.
(Year Zero/Day One Hundred and Forty-One)