Lost
It was all over but balloons drifting down as their helium expired, and spilled refreshments staining the banquet tablecloths, and clots of confetti everywhere. The only figures still moving around the hall were janitors and wait-staff cleaning up and folding the tables and chairs.
From the lobby, a door to the outside banged shut so hard the vibrations rattled the stage like the last gasp of an imploding drum.
Startled alert, the candidate at the long, empty table up there grabbed at his red necktie, and straightened drunkenly in the throne his team had borrowed from the community drama club.
“That sure made a peculiar echo,” he muttered.
“It’s just history,” said the woman pushing a broom past him, and hiding a smile.
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