Lately, I wonder what's left of the old West Wing, and how it might feel to set foot there again. Spacious and light-filled on television, the real West Wing on Pennsylvania Avenue has low ceilings, fraying electrical wires, cramped quarters, and is inhabited by gangs of flies, and bold, darting mice. It has workaday smells: the president's lunch cooking on a hot plate in a closet off the Oval Office, exhaust fumes from Marine One pushing off from the South Lawn, and, on occasion, the smell of one of those mice, departed and decaying in the walls of the Situation Room; and another time, a faint burning smell coming from the ceiling, caused by an electrical fire. "The president is literally not in the Oval because it smells like someone lit a tire on fire," a junior aide reported out at the time.
Copying/Pasting full or partial texts with adding very little original content are frowned upon by the community. Repeated copy/paste posts could be considered spam. Spam is discouraged by the community and may result in the account being Blacklisted.
Downvoting a post can decrease pending rewards and make it less visible. Common reasons:
Submit