Mitch had an 8am appointment near Fredericksburg, so he did the smart thing

He ran home, stuffed one of his better suits and his good overcoat into a hanging suit carrier; the various other gear, into side pockets.  He made a mental note to buy one that held suits that weren't "elf-sized."  Yeah, a classic coping phrase for guys who, for whatever reason, didn't "hit the gym" ... Whatever!   Up ahead, was a neon sign, it read "Becker's Diner."  He'd heard about the place, from Hillary, a former employee, and decided to check it out.

The place was relatively quiet, but it was a monday night, and the roads were nasty.  The storm system had already moved in.  He ordered the blue plate special, with an extra side of cauliflower with cheese sauce, and an extra serving of dinner rolls, with plenty of butter.  Nice place.  They employed people to serve the food, not robots.  The waitress brought soft warm rolls, in a white cotton cloth covered basket, and carafe of black coffee.  He dug in, while unzipping his brief case.  As usual, supper was, more or less a working supper.

At the counter sat two old timers, who were going on about tomorrow's election.  Unsurprisingly, given the area, both the oldsters were for Rowans.  Per a conversation behind him, it wasn't just the old and middle-aged folks.  A dark haired, stocky late teen, and some guy called "Raybo" - who had more or less, turned the young couple, into a crowd, were both for Rowans as well.  But who was going to win Thursday's football game, that was a friendly, but getting a bit loud disagreement.  In the midst of the noise, Raybo then remembered to congratulate the couple about something; he also, evidently, fancied himself to be on Rowans campaign committee, because he began pitching the young woman.  She, of course, politely declined making an issue.  It was then Raybo, being on a dork streak, evidently, said something along the lines of, "oh well, next year then."  

While Mitch generally ignored the three teens sitting behind him, Raybo's last statement had sewn the pieces together.  Raybo had, basically, interrupted the young married couple's date night - likely one, the two could barely afford; and the wife - whomever she would care to see as the nation's next President - was denied the suffrage. 

You had to be atleast eighteen to cast a ballot.

Finally, Raybo must have somehow took the hint, and took a seat at the counter - leaving the young marrieds to enjoy the remainder of their meal, and what was left of their date night.  Brother, Mitch exclaimed to himself, did they have serious rows to hoe.   The husband looked, maybe, two years older, if that.  

Mitch began perusing a business website.  An article was garnering his attention, but the comment feed, began grabbing it.  He clicked upon one of the top three screen-names.  Mitch grew concerned, because the info being passed, had a familiar tone.  And between the commentor's crowings, was info which came off as sensative.  In short, loose lips...

The crash of a coffee mug hitting the table, turned heads.  Embarrased, Mitch grabbed napkins, which refused to let go of their holder.  Fortunately, his keyboard held but a few drops, which he had wiped away, with his tie.  With the tie, he had also dabbed away perspiration forming upon his forehead.  He shut the laptop and put it back in its case.

Per hoyle, Mitch expected to be back in town by around noon - with a little travel souvenir for Cadly.