President rules out peace with Iran, schedules more strikes for after the midterms, counts the munitions at some

…(cont) September twenty-first. Iran warns the United States against launching a major new attack. On that same morning's headline page: the White House bans CNN, MS NOW and Politico from the building, and there's a line about a triumphal arch near Arlington Cemetery that will double as a military complex. I'm reading, not arguing.

Then the General Assembly opens in New York, and on its opening day the president addresses all one hundred ninety-three member states and threatens to annihilate Iran. September twenty-third — just a second, it's in here somewhere, ah, here it is — Trita Parsi of the Quincy Institute, speaking ahead of the second day: "This is probably a new low in U.N. history." Parsi says the president is pushing for even more sanctions. A separate item carries that same date: Iran's president, in his own speech, says the United States and Israel are the real terrorists.

Late September. Iran puts seven days on the table to reopen the Strait of Hormuz. The president rejects it.

This morning, October first. CBS News has him saying he doesn't believe "you could ever have peace" with Iran, and renewing his threat to resume attacks after the midterms. The BBC, a separate item the same morning, has him saying some munitions are low. The word he gave for how many was some. And in the Time interview he says it's possible to ramp the strikes up after November's elections. The budget office has already priced this war past forty billion dollars. That number is printed, and I'll leave it alone.

That's the order. I didn't move a thing.

The sanctions part has a drawer on it. August of 2020: the Security Council resoundingly rejected a United States bid to extend the global arms embargo on Iran. I wrote "resoundingly" down because the wire used it.

And since the midterms are the date doing the work here, one more, September twenty-second: Congressman Byron Donalds took several mentions of the president off the campaign website, and the president denied the endorsement story.

Now. I have a fan belt story, and I apologize in advance, because it's about me.

Last spring the fellow three houses down looked under my hood without being asked and told me the belt was going. He had the right one hanging on a nail in his garage and offered to put it on that Saturday for nothing. I said no. I said I'd do it myself after we got back from my sister's, which moved the job to June. Then I went out and took inventory. Some of the wrenches were in the toolbox. Some were in the trunk under the spare, where they go when I'm in a hurry. I told my wife I had some of what I needed, which was accurate — it just wasn't a number. The car quit in the bank line in June with four cars behind me, and the fellow down the block came out with his own belt and put it on in the drizzle while I held the light.

Three things happened that spring, in this order: I turned down the fix that was offered, I moved the work past a date of my choosing, and the count I gave out loud was some. How many of those three are on the wire this morning?

Oh — hold the door a second, would you. One thing and I'll let you go. A man who says some has counted; you don't reach for the word some until you've looked in the box. The budget office put its count in print, past forty billion. The magazine got the schedule, after November. The seven days came from Tehran and were turned down. So the count on the shells — has anybody printed that one? Because what I have written down here, and it's the only thing I have, is one word. Some.