I feel like we’re all in that scene in The Godfather where Sonny, Mike, Tom, Tessio, and Clemenza are eating Chinese food waiting for the phone to ring to tell them where Sollozzo’s sitdown is going to take place.
Can I be Sonny?
PRICELESS allegory. I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Incidentally, I just got back from voting. I was number 320. That’s really not a lot for my district. I was the only one there, too. AND I live in a very, VERY Democratic area (Western New York). It could be that there will be an influx after work hours, but still, I was expecting more based on the media’s hyperventilating reports.
SONNY: Louis’ Restaurant in the Bronx.
TOM: Well is it reliable?
SONNY: That’s my man in McCluskey’s precinct. A police captain’s gotta be on call twenty-four hours a day. He signed out at that number between eight and ten. Anybody know this joint?
TESSIO: Yeah, sure, I do. It’s perfect for us. A small family place, good food. Everyone minds his business. It’s perfect. Pete: they got an old-fashion’ toilet — you know, the box, and - and - and - ah the chain-thing. We might be able to tape the gun behind it.
CLEMENZA: All right. Mike: you go to the restaurant, you eat, you talk for a while, you relax. You make them relax. Then you get up and you go take a leak. No — better still — you ask for permission to go. Then when you come back, you come out blastin’, and don’t take any chances — two shots in the head apiece.