The mayor knows the dam's gotta be blown to save the city. He knows no one else can make the decision. The people downstream'll howl. He's seen the flood forecast. He knows the water'll blow it apart eventually, anyhow.
He knows it'll end his career. He'll never go to another mayoral convention. Never get another lap dance in the company of his peers. But he'll finally be able to buy a split level on the 9-holer they're putting in on the lake a few miles out of town. Hire a hot young caddie to haul his clubs around.
Though the Governor gave an unofficial okay, she won't put her neck on the line. The city councillors are busy sandbagging their breakfast nooks. There'll be no National Guard intervention. They've got their hands full hauling poor people off rooftops.
He pushes himself up from his desk, walks over to the mirror by the window. Leans in close. Sucks in his cheeks. Wonders if he should go ahead and make that appointment to have his jowls done. No more doughnuts for breakfast, he decides. Only fruitcups from here on out.
Thanks to Kyle Jones for the photo