(Written AD MMVIII, 232nd year of American Independence. George W. Bush, President of the Republic, and gasoline at four dollars the gallon.)
The night after Peak Oil, I met Nixon by the Union Station Metro stop. He was wearing a dust-tinged blue suit and trying to hail a cab.
“I’ve got to get down to the Mall,” he was mumbling when I found him. “I can calm the situation. I reach out to people. I reached out to those goddamned war protestors, but they were too bitter. I can’t stand bitter people. Where the hell is a goddamned taxi?”
“There aren’t any more taxis, Dick. There’s no more oil.”
“What? Those damned Saudis won’t cough up more oil? Goddammit, we’ll send in the Marines and take it from them!”
“Dick, the Saudis are dead. They sent us all their oil and they died.”
“Hmm. Well, let’s walk then.”