Luke Scott is watching the election results. He is alone and he is drinking an American beer. A lager. Light. He doesn’t really care which kind, they all taste about the same and they all make him feel about the same. Luke Scott is sitting in front of his television. He sees men in suits and women with smart haircuts. They’re talking loud and touching screens and there are numbers everywhere.
Luke Scott thought he would feel more nervous than he does. More anxious. Mostly he just feels tired. The people on the screen are talking. They’ve been talking for a long time. They will talk for a long time yet. He takes a drink from his beer, holds the bottle up to his eye. He squints, looks through the brown glass. The room is dark and distorted. The television still glowing. He swirls the remains of the bottle around in a circle in front of his face. He lowers the bottle to his lips and drinks the last of the liquid. It tastes thin and metallic, dry and bitter, too warm. Luke Scott stands up and heads to the kitchen for another.