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People & Culture
The city streets - long since abandoned – filled with water. Earlier, in the stadium, the ferocious wind had howled like a stricken animal and torn the roof off in little strips. But only the empty seats below bore witness to the terrifying power of Mother Nature. Hundreds of miles away, evacuees watched in shocked silence as their homes slowly disappeared. Tearful strangers hugged each other, glad to be alive. Al Gore pressed the flesh.
Thousands of miles away, bullets dislodged themselves from bone and whizzed into the barrels of guns. Soldiers climbed out of holes and joined their comrades, clumps of fresh earth still clinging to their uniforms. A huge army began marching in rhythm – left, right, left, right – as the desert in front of them grew smaller and smaller.
December 12, 2000. The dawn of an alternative millennium. In front of the court the press gathered; cameras clicking, wires everywhere. Half eaten hot dogs and empty cola cans littered the sidewalk. Inside, a man of ambition phoned his brother. His entourage fidgeted nervously.
William H. Rehnquist (God bless his Republican soul) adjusted his spectacles and banged his wooden hammer. The crowd outside fell silent. The moment of truth had arrived.