It’s hard to tell if he’s just having lunch or if he’s already laying the groundwork for re-election.He smiles when he speaks, no matter how long he’s speaking, and it’s hard to imagine how anyone could speak that long and smile all the way through. It’s like he’s in some alternate universe where everything’s just hunky-dory; where no one’s got a care in the world—least of all him, coasting through lunch unfazed by the sudden rash of failed incumbencies, the wholesale dumping of symbolic tea into virtual and figurative harbors, and the overall sense that stakes are being driven into the ground, awaiting the arrival of the witch, the kindling, and the match. It’s hard to tell, just from watching him and the reactions of his tablemates, whether or not he’s even making any sense. One thing’s for certain, though: nobody’s even noticed that there’s no chicken in the chicken pot pie. It seems like they’re all on a starvation diet, anyway.