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Adam Forster was up at five a.m. on the day of the rally in Berlin. He made a coffee and, sitting in front of the window in his hotel room, watched and waited for the sunrise. He glanced at his watch—it was eleven p.m. in Washington D.C. He stood, grabbed his phone and returned to the window. Adam dialed Mitch.
“Hey Adam,” Mitch answered.
“I didn’t wake you obviously,” Adam said speaking in a low voice so as not to wake Ellen.
“No, I was waiting up to give you a call after six your time to make sure you were feeling okay about it all,” Mitch said. “I’m just watching a re-run of the Redskins game from last week.”
“The Cardinals will still win,” Adam said.
Mitch laughed. “Spoiler. So are you under control?”
Adam exhaled. “Sure. But you know how it is before these things … you’ve ru
