Checked the podium, the advance man, tapped the muffled mesh of the microphone and uttered, "test, test, test."

At a distance technicians barely concealed their scorn for his simplicity.

Satisfied nonetheless he signalled his charge (what else to call him? master? hardly. client? precious. employer made less sense. "His senator" described a constituent relationship; "the senator" made one expect to see a tottering man in a white suit with mint julip).

Technician's guffawed at the daydreamer.

"Senator?" he said, annoyed at the public humiliation.

The sound of ice and sugar in the glass, smell of mint. Oil scent of horseflesh and oaty manure.

The senator stepped to the podium and leaned toward the microphone.

"Don't..." blurted the advance man.

"Yes, yes, mustn't lean," the senator recovered. Then tested:

I am pleased to join a new friend on this most festive occasion. Though he has come to us a stranger, today he is reborn a friend in our sight.

Good enough. The word "sight" echoing in the collonades of the square. They retreat to their hotel and await the appointed hour for the occasion. The technicians light cigarettes.

To escape from " you" and " me" as much as from some mark of difference ( a woman's hand upon a man's nipple? or who spawns a sunflower upon a path?)
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