Alone in a Front Row Seat On History
They had been and they had gone. That cluster. Imploring. Imagine you could abandon your youth, when you had scribbled repeatedly, "I am the only one", "I am the only one". But it was not so. There are millions of us now, they told him. And he pretended not to hear. No one had the decency to come and speak to him. They just watched. They were not there for his benefit. They were there for the evolution of man, the theft of technology, the arbitrary growth of a destiny they did not understand. And so, he had resisted their blandishments, drowned his own talents, pretended to be madder, more deranged, more dissolute than he was. And in the meantime, an ever sinking Albo, faced his own stinking, putrid, stale demise at the hands of the electorate, the country, he had so profoundly betrayed. A weak man made weaker still by the blandishments of office. And so here's Grok's summary of his chances. The statistical chances of Anthony Albanese losing at...