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[voiceover] You might ask if I ever saw Tracy Flick again. Well, I did. Just once. I was down in Washington for a museum educator's conference, and I stayed an extra day to do some sightseeing. After an inspiring morning on the mall, I was on my way to the Holocaust Museum when... I'll never know if she saw me. Probably not. But in that moment, all the bad memories, all the things I'd ever wanted to say to her, it all came flooding back. My first impulse was to run over there, pound on her window, and demand that she admit she tore down those posters and lied and cheated her way into winning that election. But, instead, I just stood there. And I suddenly realized I wasn't angry at her anymore. I just felt sorry for her. I mean, when I think about my new life and all the exciting things I'm doing, and then I think about what her life must be like—probably still getting up at five in the morning to pursue her pathetic little dreams—it just makes me sad. I mean, where is really trying to get to anyway? What is she doing in that limo? Who the **** does she think she is?!

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