Barack Obama leaned in, the musk of his socialist aftershave thrusting into Romney's nostrils.
"Youre one of us now, Mitt."
"Yes," Obama replied, his forked tongue showing.
"You'll spy for me, see," Obama said, puffing on a Jazz cigarette like a hep cat.
"I know," Obama replied. "But he's a junkie. A power junkie."
It was true. All of it.
Obama had him. Again. His stomach churned and flip flopped. He thought happy thoughts.
The car elevator.
Romney sighed.
"Please proceed," he finally croaked. "Please. Proceed."