Barry only understood bullets or bribes. 

 The president was just one symptom in the nation's disease that had been festering for generations. 

The years and distance floated away on cigarette smoke and sipping whiskey. 

 Memories pervaded the space, marked it, like the deep-rooted scent in the couch with its sun-stained throw pillows or the chair whose shape had been molded by the heavy body that once sat there. 

 And just like that, the worst year of her life was over. 

 It was a killer hoax. 

We're all biological weapons.