24 March 2008

89. Female Post-Production Supervisor In Brooklyn

I am walking on a red dirt road that runs alongside a stream. It is the magic hour and the light is perfect. Up ahead of me, I see four tiny, blond, blue-eyed children. They are wearing white outfits and are radiant. Somehow I know that they're siblings. They are otherworldly, so healthy. While the scene is so beautiful that I don't want to break the spell, I feel there's something not quite right.

I look back for their mother and it's Hillary. She's walking towards me, smiling very contentedly and wearing a pink gingham shirt. She stops to talk to me and I fumble for words. I say, I've never met your children before - they're beautiful. She goes on to say something, but I'm not really listening. I can tell she's giving the answer her handlers have told her to give when she's asked about this. I think to myself that she must have had these kids one after the other, nine months apart.

We walk down the road, together now, the kids up ahead of us. I decide to stop and rest on a tree stump by the river. Bill Clinton comes over to talk to me. He sits on a tree stump next to mine and starts asking me questions about myself, nodding and nodding like he's very interested.

He puts his hand on my knee, then checks my reaction. I'm a little creeped out, but don't show it. I'm in the middle of saying something when he reaches up and grabs my breast. I look at him with disgust, and when I do, I notice Hillary staring at us. Though she has seen everything, she is still smiling beatifically. I think to myself, These are some very weird people. I want to stay as far from them as possible.

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