Obama nods. That’s intriguing. But he prefers his own riff, which not incidentally trains the eye not on him but on his crowds. “I love when I’m shaking hands on a rope line and — he mimes the motion, hand over han— “I see little old white ladies and big burly black guys and Latino girls and all their hands are entwining. They’re feeding on each other as much as on me.”
He shrugs; it’s that distancing eye of the author.“It’s like I’m just the excuse.”
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