In my dream, McCain has lost the election and is walking alone on a tree-lined lane on a well-kept estate, perhaps in Vermont. Why did I even try, what the hell was I thinking? he is thinking. He picks a rose from a rosebed and goes to smell it, when a hornet crawls from the petals and stings him on the lip. He cries out. A crowd of photographers and a bunch of people turn out to be watching. His face turns red as he crumples and throws the flower away, but his composure quickly returns. He shakes his head and manages a slight chuckle at the dawning humour of the situation. He picks up the ruffled flower and attempts to attach it to his lapel. It keeps slipping off, so he gives it one last sniff and then gently lays it down on the flower bed and starts walking away.