Alvin Toffler

The Elephant Man

It's a few minutes to six on a Thursday evening in October, and the corridor outside the House chamber, thick with bodies a week ago, is a lazy parlor for a team of guards kicking back on swivel chairs bolted to the marble floor. Afternoon light sifts through windows painted shut since Truman was president, smoothing a coat of gold over the sculpted walls and vaulted ceiling. In another hour it will be dark, nature's memo to the few dyspeptic members still inside that it's time to muzzle the floor speeches and high-tail it back home to where the votes are. READ MORE >>

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