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The campaigning was over. People were out voting.
He felt tired, boarded his plane and started his flight back to Mar-a-Lago.
Still, he felt restless.
One newspaper had said he was glum at the end. And that Harris was upbeat.
Nonsense.
But, on second thought, he did feel a little sad.
What he liked most of all was being out there on the stump, telling people he had the answers, that he would help straighten their lives, end the war, all wars, put more money in everyone’s pocket — democrats included.
He loved hearing the applause, the praise, the devotion, oh, yes, particularly the devotion.
Sitting in the plane, alone — he had wanted his privacy — he reflected on his political journey.
He closed his eyes as he tilted his seat back. What a journey it had been.
From hotelier to world renowned figure.
Everyone on earth knew who he was. Way out there in a village in Nepal, people knew who he was. In Belize. In Patagonia. In Iceland. In Mongolia. In Fiji. Madagascar. Mozambique.
Some adored him, some couldn’t stand him, but they knew him.
Perhaps, that’s what he had wanted the most. To be known.
He had accomplished that.
To be known and to be loved.
Not by everyone — but by his people. And in his rallies, he got that. He got that love he so yearned for.
There were millions and millions of people out there who approved of him.
Maybe billions. Oh, the beauty of the thought.
To get there he had had to put a lot of people down. Just because they…
