From then on, the day went along as usual. He made his dirty deals, he argued with the filthy liberals from across the aisle, he cast his vote and made his opinion known for what he believed would make the country better, which in his view meant more profitable. All in a day’s work.

Yet, through it all, the handle was still there. He would notice it every time he went to the bathroom or when he was out to lunch and the late afternoon sun spilled his shadow out on the ground before him.

It wasn’t until he left the office for the day that things took an unusual turn. And they only got worse from there.

He had just pulled the Lincoln over to the on ramp. The interstate traffic was lighter than usual and he was moving along at a good speed. Soon he would be in his lovers arms and for at least an hour, all else would be forgotten. All of the dealings, all of the squabbling politicians, even the phantom handle that stuck out of his head would be gone from his mind.

With the suddenness of a cracking whip it happened. The car in front of him was an old Chevy Sprint and just as it hit a ragged pot hole, its front axle snapped. The tiny car careened forward and began tumbling down the freeway and over into the right lane.

Lionel put on his breaks to slow down just as the car shambled in front of a large tractor trailer. The semi driver slammed on his own breaks and veered into Lionel’s lane. With horror, the congressman realized his car was going to be wedged beneath the trailer. He dove sideways into the passenger seat (thanking his stubbornness at refusing to wear his seatbelt) and when the crash came he felt a scraping pain just as he blacked out, but he knew he had made it. And he did. Well, most of him anyway.