Last Monday evening was the first time in forty years of attending a meeting of close friends, a group  that I shall refer to as the Arcadians , that I ever witnessed a member demonstrate a belief that consensus was unnecessary for determining whether a group such as ours lives or dies.

I saw and heard a friend of over thirty years explain to our group of nine that such a small gathering was half the size necessary to officially be a group. I heard him declare that if we were unable to double the size of our attendance by the end of October, he would bring closure to our existence.  His demeanor was that of a Shakespearean martyr.

If this story were turned into a novel a good title might be


That title is already reserved, however;  I am prepared to publish  a book about our next POTUS. – a short thriller which mentions no names.


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