Tuesday night at 6:50, I was on fire, full of vinegar and adrenaline. It was ten minutes till the start of the State of the Union address, and it was open season for conservatives. I was David: poised, rock in hand, turning to hurl it at Goliath. I was the righteous white-hatted sheriff, staring down the outlaw who had rolled into town. My fingers were itching at the holsters, daring him to draw. I was invincible. Yet an hour or so later, I was surprisingly · chill.
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