Miss me?
Maybe. A little.
What's it been, 15 hours?
Not even long enough to notice you're gone.
Tell that to Marty Spinella.
How's it coming?
It's coming. Slowly, painfully. Hey, have we always had tulips in the front yard, or am I slowly going insane?
I planted them last fall.
You did not.
When I was down with you for the campaign.
You've never gardened a day in your life.
Not true. I have gardened exactly one day in my life. You were down in Spartanburg doing some sort of fundraiser. Gene's wife came over with a bucket of bulbs, and next thing you knew, I was down on my knees in the dirt, earthworms and all.
I can't even picture it.
Neither can I, and I was there.
What else? Distract me from giant peaches and dead teenagers.
What else? Oh, I went for a run today, and the strangest... I-- I don't know. This woman...
That's interesting. -
What is?
Oh, a text just came. Zoe Barnes.
Who?
Oh, that reporter from the herald you met one night.
Oh, her. I remember. Yeah, go if you need to call her back.
No, she can wait. I'm talking to my wife.
That's okay. I'm going to bed soon anyway. See you tomorrow?
I hope so. Wish me luck.
Mm, bonsoir, my petite Peachoid. Disgusting.
Good night. - Good night.

Yeah, all right, that's fine, Corey. Marty?
Frank, let me explain it to you. Here's our problem.
Frank? Frank, did we lose you?
Uh, yeah, I'm here, Marty.
Look, we can talk ourselves in circles about charter schools, but here's what I propose.

In your profile, you go into great detail about the sexism Durant faced early on in her career.
That's right. When she was first elected, it was still an old boy's club in the senate.
Journalism used to be that way, too, not so long ago.
I feel really lucky. I've had lots of trailblazers come before me. For instance, my colleague Janine Skorsky was the first woman at the herald to become chief political correspondent, and that was only five years ago.
Has it been those trailblazers who've allowed you to rise so quickly? You've moved up from the Metro pages to the front page Sunday edition.
Uh, well, I don't know that that would be possible if Janine hadn't already paved the way.
So does that mean that the herald is not particularly progressive?
I think that they are. Tom is very open minded. He's the reason Janine got promoted.
That's Tom Hammerschmidt, the executive editor.
Yes, we actually call him the hammer.
The hammer? Why?
Because he's tough.
How tough?
He's, uh-- Tom has very high standards. I love him. He's a-- he's a great mentor. Um, it can be frustrating at times. Um, he makes you double and triple-check things,
and you want to get the news out the moment you have it, and he makes you rewrite until it's perfect, but that's what makes the Herald the Herald.
Is that a workable model in the Internet age?
Our readers think it is.
Well, you have a declining readership.
But I don't lay that at Tom's feet. I think that that's the times we live in, right?
Should newspapers adapt to the times we live in?
It's not that the Herald refuses to adapt. We have an online presence.
Is that maybe not adapting fast enough?
I wouldn't argue with that statement. We could do more.

We've got a special guest with us today. He asked for the opportunity to share a few words with us this morning-- Our very own congressman, Frank Underwood.
Good morning.
Good morning.
Thank you, reverend, and thanks to that choir for that beautiful hymn. I want to read, this morning, from... No. You know what no one wants to talk about. Hate. I know all about hate. It starts in your gut, deep down here, where it stirs and churns. And then it rises. Hate rises fast and volcanic. It erupts hot on the breath. Your eyes go wide with fire. You clench your teeth so hard you think they'll shatter. I hate you, God. I hate you! Oh, don't tell me you haven't said those words before. I know you have. We all have, if you've ever felt so crushing a loss. There are two parents with us today who know that pain, the most terrible hurt of all-- losing a child before her time. If Dean and Leanne were to stand up right now and scream those awful words of hate, could we blame them? I couldn't. At least their hatred I can understand. I can grasp it, but God's wantonness, his cruelty, I can't even begin to-- My father dropped dead of a heart attack at the age of 43-- 43 years old-- and when he died, I looked up to God and I said those words, because my father was so young, so full of life, so full of dreams. Why would God take him from us? Truth be told I never really knew him or what his dreams were. He was quiet, timid, almost invisible. My mother didn't think much of him. My mother's mother hated him. The man never scratched the surface of life. Maybe it's best he died so young. He wasn't doing much but taking up space. But that doesn't make for a very powerful eulogy, now, does it? I wept. I screamed, "Why, God? How can I not hate you when you steal from me the person I most love and admire in this world? I don't understand it, and I hate you for it. The Bible says in proverbs, Trust in the lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding."