Early this afternoon, my friend Ruth and I were walking and talking at a park on the Patuxent River near her home in Maryland. "I don't know how we got here," she said about the upcoming election and shook her head in dismay.
"Right," I agreed. "Who knows what's going to happen?"
"We're not going to know on Election Day, either," Ruth sighed.
I nodded and looked across the field toward the river. "Hey! Is that a groundhog over there?"
She squinted. "Yep. He's a fat one."
"Maybe he knows," I laughed. "He could be Phil's cousin, Patuxent Pete!"
"Is he going left or right?" Ruth played along.
"Our left or his?" I asked.
"Never mind," she answered. "He went underground." She sighed again. "That can't be good."
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