Reached across the aisle. The aisle was a mirror.
An oil painting of a man shaking hands with his own reflection, hung in the kind of marble hallway where nothing useful has happened in decades. The flag tie and the gilt frame tell you everything about who paid for the mirror. He ran on bipartisanship and found the one partner who never pushes back. Somewhere a constituent is on hold while their representative closes the most productive meeting of his career. The handshake looks firm. He’s had practice.