…and my man lost.

Well, there’s nothing to do but have a drink to steady your nerves, a cigarette to bring you that much closer to your end, and try not to think too much of meager defenses against Hungarians who ask how, on earth, the election could have gone this way. Try not to watch the value of your dollar as it sinks against, of all things, the Hungarian forint. And try, though this will hurt, not to dwell too much on what this election says about the American electorate, which is becoming more and more naively fundamentalist.

In the meantime, pretend all this means is a possible change in American literary culture, and visit Ms Chicha, who’s asking writers about that very subject.

Good luck to all.

(Originally posted at the Contemporary Nomad)