“Damn woman. Ought to send me a thank you note. If I hadn't fired her, she'd still be prosecuting cases with McCoy,” spewed the old man, wizened countenance pugnacious and malignant, eyes mere slits in wrinkled folds of flesh.
He glowered at the image of a still beautiful blonde woman standing before a cheering crowd. The caption across the screen read, “ New York Governor-Elect, Serena Southerlyn.”
“Did you vote for her, Mr. Branch?” The nursing attendant asked.
“Hell, no. Think I'd vote for a damned lesbian?” Arthur wheezed, overcome by a spasm of coughing.
His attendant only smiled and handed him some water, the rainbow bracelet on her wrist catching the light of the TV screen.