“Why don't you join me during the address? Tammy, you think we can find a spot up there for the Congressman?”
“Of course, Mr. President,” Tammy said.
The heat under the lamps was intense. The sweat beading on Jones’s forehead caused him to wipe it repeatedly, which reminded him of the sweltering, humid summers in Alabama. The sun would scorch him every day during his chores on the farm. He detested the heat, along with the town.
But that small rural community where he had grown up no longer existed. A sign of the times and dwindling resources, and also his sway with the resource committee to pull the town's funding.