"Boy, just look at him. Look at that smile!" The old man leaned forward and spat precisely into one of the aluminum spittoons. Chewing and spitting occupied most of the day in the Indiana Farm Owners' Retirement Village, what with noncarc smokeless on the market. Especially in the barbershop. "Must think he's king of the world."
This day the weathered faces bent over the two-inch screens on the arm of each of the chairs. "Must have forty, maybe fifty teeth in that mouth."
"Like a shark, I'd say."
"They're all sharks, them politicians."
The owner, a Belarussian emigré, paused between clips. "Now, fellaz, zhow some rezpect. Thatz our new Prezident." He pointed at a TV with the scissors. "Our brand new Prezident."
"Could be the old one, if you assed me. I caint see nothin' on these piddly Chinese sets."
"You can't see nothin' anyway," chimed several voices in chorus.
They quieted while a cutaway shot panned a Texas high school cheerleading squad, in white cowboy hats and black leotards, black net tights with a paisley lace pattern, and red five-inch spike heels. The commentator discussed probable appointments to the Supreme Court.
"I wouldn't want the job. No, sir," allowed the senior member of the regular afternoon crowd. "Burns a man out. President when I was born, Roosevelt, he'd served what, four, five terms? Now they don't even run for a second one."
"Bush did! And that Clinton."
"Yeah, but that was twenty-some-odd years ago."
PBS went to commercial with a still-frame of President Quantrill, waving at the crowd from his armored limousine.
"Yessir. Probly thinks he's king of the world."
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