Leaking Lips
New York City: I fly back to the west coast in the morning, so I’m killing time catching up with some old friends. One of my friends used to throw his weight around Foggy Bottom, but right now he’s throwing it around a table at a restaurant downtown. Between mouthfuls of steak and baked potato, he’s telling me that Julian Assange, Lord of the Leaks, is not what he appears to be. Confession time: I’m in the bathroom posting this. When I get back to the table, I’m going to buy my friend another round … and another round and another until he spills his guts about the mysterious Mr. Assange. Stay put.
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