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ability. ’ End quote. ”
    The stark black and red CNN graphics shine brightly from the 60 ” LCD on the wall of Jonathon Thomas ’ s 32nd-floor studio. This morning ’ s Seattle Times lies crisply folded upon a lavish, black-marble table across the room. The paper is creased open to the International section.
    Bathed in the TV ’ s flickering light, the broad-shouldered black man pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. The silver-rimmed, slim rectangles make his face seem wider than it really is, and softer somehow. It definitely feels softer than it used to be. He kept himself in peak shape for years, but the stress of life ’ s dark little surprises has finally taken its toll. And he knew it.
    He sips a cup of freshly ground French Roast, delicately for a man of his size, like even unconsciously he ’ s trying to fight the stereotypes. Too black to be a corporate executive. Acting too white to get there. He ’ s heard a lot over the years.
    The peppered gray in his tightly cut hair betrays his stress more than his age. The 44-year-old leans back on his dark leather sofa, enjoying few other moments of relaxation in his otherwise over-scheduled life. Jonathon ’ s critical eyes glance back up to the rain moving diagonally past. Wind whistles just beyond the glass. It angles the drops into the tall panes, hiding his metropolis with a wavering veil.
    Noticing the paper sitting slightly askew, Jonathon reaches forward compulsively. A small coffee drip on the coaster also catches his attention before it can roll onto his immaculate marble table. Satisfying inspection, he looks back up to the TV.
    “ The Administration has scheduled another Primetime speech by the President tonight, ” a CNN correspondent says. “ He will address some of the recent criticisms on the failing economy, as well as his foreign policy changes. ” News b-roll from countless other White House press briefings cuts on. The concentric circles surrounding the podium ’ s Presidential Seal look slightly tarnished. Normally bright gold in color, they seem almost bronze. Faded.
    The screen ’ s changing glow creates unsteady shadows behind Jonathon ’ s 6 ’ 4 ” frame. Only a handful of deceptively happy family photos adorn his otherwise bare walls. Little dust is allowed to cling to their brushed metal frames. The colorless decor echoes the overcast sky always outside his columns of glass.
    “ The President ’ s sagging approval numbers and a struggling economy continue to put him down in the latest polls. Opponents in the House and Senate are stepping up their attacks, refusing to support any of his key initiatives. What can the President do to rebuild his credibility? Send us an email and let us know what you think … ”
     
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    Tracy Thomas backs out of the driveway in her red Porsche Boxster, stomping a high-heeled foot onto the accelerator. A new miniskirt and deeply-cut pink blouse show off the attractive black woman ’ s recently available assets. The Washington vanity plate bolted to the tail of the German sports car reads: WAS HIS.
    “ … The President is also expected to criticize Russian and Chinese leaders on their lack of support for U.N. action against Iran and North Korea ’ s expanding nuclear programs … ”
    Tracy turns the satellite radio down with one manicured hand, using her left knee to steady the steering wheel. Her eyes dart back and forth between the road and the scrolling contacts on her phone. Preparing herself for another conversational descent into Dante ’ s hell, she pins the phone between her right ear and shoulder. Tracy downshifts and guns it to get around a struggling Prius.
    “ Good morning, Jonathon, ” she says. Her voice rises and falls with feigned happiness just to piss him off. How ’ s that taste for breakfast?
    The Prius driver lays on his horn as she passes. He complements it with a singularly universal gesture of anger when she cuts into his lane, slams on the