He wanted to run, but...
Surrounded on all sides—North, South, East, West—everywhere were FBI agents, each of them keeping their eyes locked on him.
His leg had been shattered by a gunman's shot, back when, if he hadn't been standing outside a police station, he'd surely be dead by now!
Now, he could only come here every day… play the clown. Even if it disgusted Clinton, at least he could stay alive.
The man was someone obsessed with saving face; how could he possibly allow himself to be killed right at the White House gates?
But...
This was no long-term solution.
He...
Slowly broke down amidst the sounds of public derision.
