I missed the beginning of Donald Trump’s speech.
I flipped my car radio on and was greeted by a strange, gravelly, bellowing insistent growl that I didn’t immediately associate with Trump.
I listened closely, thought it was someone else, but that East Coast New Yawk accent told me…this was Donald Trump. A Donald Trump roar I’d never heard before.
A new Donald Trump emerged tonight, the grave rabble-rouser, the elucidating guttural leader of an emerging dystopia, the last-ditch vessel seeking to ward off cultural disease for the sake of a traditional denouement of an idyllic past that was derailed and interrupted by the exigencies of modern avarice and hedonism.
The leader who would presume to lead us back to the insular safety of a world we left far behind in the Golden Age of our country’s youth. Can we reclaim ourselves, he seemed to plead.
Donald Trump’s new voice heralds a bold, irrefutably serious mission from the man who would be buffoon.
Long live the new voice.