Any sitting President ages tremendously, due to the schedule, pressure, and tension of knowing all (or almost all) of our secrets. Charles looked like...he had made peace with the demands, and could live with the secrets, meaning he might get to enjoy being the head of the free world, instead of consumed by it, like so many others."Mr. President. I am very fine, Sir. And glad to hear you are too. May I inquire as to the health of your bride, daughter, and the lovely little Casey?"That got a big. "Let's go into the other room." She firmly grasps my hand and leads me away from the kitchen. The 'other' room is as bare as the rest of the place. White walls, hardwood floors, narrow shaded windows. In the corner there is a chalkboard. It is dim filthy green and hangs neatly on the wall. Written across it in large, block letters letters is 'Malaise'. Beneath, in a smaller, less fluid script are the words 'An indefinite feeling of uneasiness, or of being sick or ill at ease.' "Leftovers,". More

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