He stood at the edge of the balcony looking out at the sea of people, all staring up at him, waving and chatting from within the edges of his perfectly manicured garden.
He had been so hopeful at the start, so ready to make a difference, to bring people together. Now, the halfway point, he was standing here- waving every once in a while, giving an ambiguous head nod here and there, to no one in particular.
His situation had not been ideal. They were in a war, and he needed to get out; they were in debt, and he needed to get out; they were arrogant, self-centered, and self-serving, and this too, he needed to get out of, but did not know how to do it.
He felt like a playground bully at times. When it comes down to it, a bully never really has friends, only followers that are afraid to do otherwise… He tried to think back to when he was a kid. He pictured what it was like to play basketball on the school playground. The boys there, laughing and having a good time- were they friends? How had he met them? It certainly had never been like this, he thought. He had never been the bully, never wanted to be.
He tried to imagine himself to be someplace else, in some other garden, leading some other people. Suddenly, it seemed a lot easier to think about making progress, making improvements. It seemed easier to think about providing food, rather than a health plan. He wondered.
If all were to go swimmingly... 
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