I like the way people here in Washington say words. "Chicken," as spoken in an office when the freedom of lunch break is tangible, is one of them. Spoken, it is a term full of inflection. It evokes mouth-watering and lip smacking, reminds one of fingers too pleasantly dirty with tasty greasy spice to touch all those tiresome pieces of paper, phones, computers, etc. Trying to capture that sound, that claim to membership in the human clan, it seems we begin with an exhaled 'chuh' sound, simultaneously blended 'ehhh,' as if stirring them together in a mixing bowl, once brought together in the appropriate desire and anticipation, just so, a cluck deep within the gullet, not far away from a voice breaking with real emotion, remnants of a clicking language deep in the physical past, readies the word to swallow the inhaled ending syllable, itself almost a whisper, like pulling a blanket over a lover once both comfortably put away. The word goes across the blank screen of everyday grey conversation like the heartbeat on an EKG monitor. It can be said over and over, and everyone will go 'mm, mmm, mmmm.' That's right. Chicken. Said like your voice was the knife, the word itself butter, spreading across the sweet airy bread of life.

And here too there is another word that comes across with such guttural passion. Maybe it is said quieter, with a beat before it, as if one were looking about to let in others on a secret, one containing justifiable pride. "The... administration." Man, it will make your hairs stand up.