Sunday, August 5, 2012


My goodness!  Brian Williams works another weekend shift, this time sporting a tie of suitcoat navy with flame-coloured stripes.  The diplomatic motorcade purred down the avenue, windows deeply tinted, sedans polished and sleek.  These displays had ceased to impress him years ago, and now he simply waited, uniformed and wired behind his mirrored sunglasses.  One by one the cars pulled to the curb and stopped.  From the center car, a driver emerged; he pulled his cap on and self-consciously righted his cravat.  With a swift and military stride, he walked to the rear passenger door facing the Embassy, bent low, and with a modest flourish, opened it but part-way.  Slowly, almost serpentinely, a leg emerged wearing a red high-heeled shoe.  Behind the sunglasses, uncharacteristically, his eyebrows rose.