"That's like the seventh one;

  Is there something going on?" The waitress's hands wrung out a bleach rag used for wiping down tables. 

  "Sir, the money got pooled!  It was a momentary decision as we were being attacked in the capitol." 

  "As did the typists." 

  "Really.  Attacked?" 

  The man took in the new information as the campaign buses started to load up again. 

  "Attacked how?" 

  "Well, that's just it.  Because the Press had been infiltrated, the attacking kept getting written off as domestic dispute and racism and cultural disagreement." 

  "One woman had a long knife plunged into her skull by a terrorist in full on ninja clothes and the supposed journalists just stood around and texted story." 

  The man couldn't hide his astounded look.  The waitress who'd been pouring glasses of water put the pitcher on the table, removed apron with cheques, and went outside to smoke.