Former mayor Edward McKenzie slowly added a stack of newspaper clippings to the nearly full box on his desk. He should have seen it coming; this past election his opponent was a bright young woman only a few years out of college, bursting with ideas to improve the city. He had banked on her inexperience winning him at least one more term as mayor, but the people had spoken.

Ed would miss this office—the perfect view of the city park, the big maple desk and comfy rolling chair, the high ceilings and wood paneled walls that looked like they belonged in a Cary Grant film. The work? Well, maybe he’d miss that too.

Of course, now he could golf every day and no one would complain—even Emma would be glad to get him out from underfoot for a few hours. And there was the pension to think of.

Ed sighed. He wasn’t quite ready for retirement, but it seemed retirement was ready for him.

One last time, Ed scanned the bare walls that used to be full of his mayoral paraphernalia. A spot of red caught his eye, and he plucked a #1 Mayor magnet off of a filing cabinet. Ed chuckled. Emma had given it to him the day he was sworn in, and it had held up his acceptance speech for almost thirty years.

The mayor Ed replaced had been glad to leave the office, and back then Ed had been the clichéd young idealist, taking the old cynic’s place. Ed hefted the magnet in his palm and grinned; there would always be a new idealist ready to make a change.

But how long until that idealist became the old cynic? What had happened to the Ed who was going to make a difference?

After years of pushing through beneficial policies people begged for, only for everyone to complain about them, Ed had given in. Doing favors for those who were actually grateful was easier … and more lucrative.

Ed sighed and laid the magnet face down on his desk. Idealistic Ed had held out as long as he could. Maybe the new mayor would have better luck. She certainly seemed the kind to make things happen—tasteful skirt- and pantsuits, long simply-styled hair, earnest calls for change—his opposition had been the classic example of a young idealist set to change the world.

“Sir,” Mrs. Bloom, the office’s elderly secretary, tapped on the door and pushed it wide. “Miss Alison—Mayor Alison Brandon is here.”

“Already?” Ed looked at his desk, still piled with old photos and papers.

A young blonde in dark jeans and a pink silk blouse appeared behind Mrs. Bloom, who quietly disappeared.

Alison smiled, white teeth gleaming. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Ed smiled back. “Of course you’re early! I’m sure you’ve got a whole list of changes to make on Monday, a young idealist like you.”

“Idealist?” Her brown eyes widened, and she laughed. “Oh, no! If it’s not broke, don’t fix it, right? Well, really, if it’s already broken, don’t make it worse. Besides, if you try to change too much, the old stale guys—no offense—get nervous.” She walked around the room, surveying the empty walls and estimating distance with her hands.

Was she joking? “But in your campaign you promised-”

“Change?” Alison paused at the window and stared down at the park, scrunching up her nose. “People say they want change, but they really want money and comfort. As long as they have those, they don’t care what the government does.”

“I don’t believe this.” Ed stared at the calm, businesslike young woman. He was supposed to be the cynic!

Alison grinned. “You thought I was ‘Mr. Smith going to Washington’? All ‘serve and protect the American people’?” She shook her head pityingly. “Everyone knows that’s not the government anymore. I don’t need to be coy with you, Ed; you know how it is. I’m here to serve and protect myself, like any politician. Student loans don’t pay themselves.”

Unsure what to do, Ed turned back to his packing and realized the office door was wide open. No one should hear the new mayor talk like this! He quickly moved to close it, leaving only a five-inch gap. When he turned back, Alison had shuffled his photos and papers into a messy stack.

He cleared his throat, but she didn’t look up from stuffing an award plaque down the box’s side.

Ed stood in front of the desk and cleared his throat again. “You don’t intend to fulfill any of your campaign promises, Alison?” Hopefully her attitude was just a show meant to reassure the old mayor of his legacy’s safety.

She looked up, startled. “Mayor Brandon, please. The campaign? I showed the people what they wanted to see, told them what they expected to hear, and let them think they were smart to choose me.”

Ed clenched his fists. “What did I expect? You’re a product of your generation!”

“Hm.” Alison flopped the last of Ed’s papers into the box. “And what’s my generation a product of?”

Ed shook his head sadly. “I can’t believe it.”

The only thing left on the desk was Ed’s #1 Mayor magnet. Alison turned it over and raised one eyebrow.

“If you wanted a better legacy”—she tossed the magnet, and Ed reflexively caught it—“you should have worked for it when you had the chance.”

Alison heaved the box off the desk, thrust it into Ed’s arms, and led him to the door. She held it wide, waving one hand for him to precede her.

“Oh!” She held out her hand. “Keys.”

Ed paused in the hallway, balancing his box on one hip, and dug his office keys from his pocket. Here was his last chance to convince this skeptic that she had a duty to the city.

Not even giving him time to fumble with them, Alison took Ed’s key ring from him, pulled off the outer and inner door keys, and handed it back.

“This city needs you Al-”

“Goodbye, Ed.” Mayor Brandon closed the door in his face.