I can’t tell them apart anymore. Everything is blinding blue, or red. They died, or their parents died. But their fathers worked in a bottle factory. Or a can factory. Something with containers.
But they loved their mother. We all love mothers. Something about mothers.
They all seem slightly drunk. It’s blue, or red.
Condoleezza Rice in a pink dress. She talks about war. I think she’s in favor of it. I was waiting for her to talk about her mother; it was distracting. She says, “Self esteem comes from achievement, not from lax standards and false praise.” She looks like she’s about to cry.