When you went to bed, you were a senator or a governor or a representative.
You wake up in a cold sweat with only one thought: Somehow you must get to Iowa. You are not from Iowa. But it is calling to you. You think, “If I do not get my hands around an ear of corn, I will perish. If I do not clutch an Iowan infant in my arms, something horrible will happen. If I do not tell the people of Iowa what I think is wrong with America — and yet, what I think is right with America, too — then life will no longer be worth living.