10:30

I am walking in DC with somebody I am trying to impress. Assuming dream-state Jungian archetypes are real, it must be either a girl, a father figure or a former ally turned foe. We are outdoors at a busy marketplace, casually talking, shopping, no urgency, no deadlines, no appointments. The sun is shinning. I feel its glow like the sophisticated beauty of my company.

Some one walks by to my right. The first thing I notice is a rather cheap looking brown suit. The material looks like burlap or kraft paper and the shoulders are too big. But there is a buzz happening around this suit as I see that it is the President.

He looks stressed, busy, beat-up, yet focused and congenial. He flashes a dazzling smile to a vendor as a photographer jostles for position. We are five feet from him.

I look at my companion and see in her eyes the wonder of the moment and the opportunity at hand. I turn and speak to him:

"Mr. President, sir, the best thing we could do today is go for a 5K. The economy, Afghanistan, those GOP blowhards, climate change, inflation, 55 MPG rules and same-sex marriage can wait, let's go run."

I was surprised at how appropriate this seemed, how it made such perfect sense to me and that even my friend who was now holding onto my arm with both of hers in a show of solidarity (which I took as WAY more than that) appeared sincerely interested in his response.

Yet he just smiled and walked away.

We stood and watched as a Secret Service agent handed him a cell phone and he listened, nodded and spoke a few words. He hands the phone back, takes a deep breath, the shoulders of his jacket now fitting, turns and gracefully closes the distance to where we stand watching, waiting, wondering.

"10:30, my place."