The President sat down at his desk, smoking. Mr. Armstrong sat opposite him.
"It's been over a year now, Mr. President, and things haven't gotten any better," Mr. Armstrong said, frowning.
The President kept his eyes to slits. He was calm. Too calm. Serene as if nothing could ever bother him. "There is no better, Mr. Armstrong," he said, "there is only worse. If things worsen, only then we can start to worry. You can start to worry."
"Mr. President, might I ask ..."
"Mhm?"
"What about you? Are you going to worry should things worsen?"
The President looked at him. "To hell with that. The people's feelings are my feelings. But I don't actually feel ... anything. Not anymore. After years of this long tenure, you're bound to become a lonesome stoic."
