The Air Is Electric, Entrenched With Gut Busting Enthusiasm From A Room Full Of People Essay

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The air is electric, entrenched with gut-busting enthusiasm from a room full of people, who have experienced the hardships of battle, and tonight, have cashed in the spoils from war.
Chants of my family 's surname, Brooks, echoes throughout the twentieth floor of a Beverly Hills privately owned office suite. With a grandeur name hanging outside the entranceway, beaming with familial pride, Brooks Brothers: Attorneys at Law. The sweet smell of ceremonial victory is serendipitous. Serendipitous. A word commonly used by grandmothers, such as my own, to relay their overdue elation when one of her two sons finally lives up to the political dynasty that the patriarch of the almighty Brooks family left in his wake. Chants of my dad 's name comes next, "Congratulations on the re-election, Conrad! Governor Brooks how… serendipitous." That word, again. Amidst the chaos, the office space, now serving as the headquarters for dad’s re-election campaign, keeps the manic media at bay by holding a press conference that will have all of Los Angeles buzzing by tomorrow morning. The media is hungry to feed their news outlets the first breaking footage of dad’s victory speech. One blistering re-election campaign year it had been. Conrad Brooks, while only forty-three years old has tonight just been re-elected as California 's Governor. Every media outlet, conservative channels—liberal conglomerates, said dad’s far-right Republican views wouldn 't win him re-election. A democrat won the
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