We've got to keep our eye on what's happening with Russia and

Host: The night lay heavy over Washington D.C., its streets humming with the low thrum of traffic and the distant wail of an ambulance. Inside a dimly lit diner, the rain traced slow, uncertain lines down the windows, catching the glow of passing headlights. The air smelled faintly of coffee and wet asphalt.
Jack sat at the corner booth, his jacket draped over the seat, his grey eyes fixed on the muted television showing a news report — Russia’s latest military move, North Korea’s missile test, and the ongoing debate in the Senate over healthcare funding.
Jeeny arrived quietly, her black hair damp, her hands wrapped around a paper cup. She slid into the booth opposite him, her eyes reflecting both fatigue and resolve.

Jeeny: “Kamala Harris once said, ‘We’ve got to keep our eye on what’s happening with Russia and North Korea. We cannot lose sight of domestic policy, either. Healthcare. Immigration. Climate change.’”

Host: Her voice trembled slightly — not from uncertainty, but from the weight of what she felt.

Jeeny: “She’s right, Jack. We keep talking about global threats, but people are still dying here without healthcare, families are being torn apart by immigration laws, and the planet is burning. What’s the point of watching other nations if our own house is on fire?”

Jack: smirking faintly “Because, Jeeny, when the wolves circle the fence, you don’t start fixing the roof. You defend the perimeter first. National security isn’t just a slogan — it’s survival.”

Host: The neon light outside flickered across Jack’s face, slicing his expression into alternating halves of light and shadow.

Jeeny: “Survival? You call this survival — where insulin costs more than rent? Where children grow up breathing smoke instead of air? You talk about wolves at the fence, but what about the wolves inside — the ones made of greed and apathy?”

Jack: “Idealism won’t stop a missile, Jeeny. Putin won’t blink because an American can’t afford his meds. North Korea won’t pause its nuclear tests because we recycle more plastic. You can’t fix the world if you can’t keep it from burning down.”

Jeeny: leaning forward, eyes steady “And what if the burning starts inside the walls, Jack? What if the collapse doesn’t come from bombs, but from our own neglect? Rome didn’t fall to an army — it fell because its people forgot what they stood for.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, drumming against the glass with rhythmic insistence. A waitress passed by, setting down two steaming mugs of coffee. The steam rose like ghosts between them, fragile, shifting.

Jack: “You always romanticize decline. But this isn’t ancient Rome, Jeeny. It’s a world of data, drones, and deterrence. Power defines peace now. If we don’t keep an eye on Russia and North Korea, we risk losing control of the global balance — and then your healthcare and climate plans won’t matter at all.”

Jeeny: “You sound like every senator who’s ever justified war by invoking ‘balance.’ Tell me, Jack — how much ‘balance’ was there in Iraq? In Afghanistan? We watched two decades of blood and money vanish into the sand, while our infrastructure crumbled back home. Did that make America safer?”

Jack: pausing, his jaw tightening “It made us aware. It taught us what failure costs.”

Jeeny: “And yet we keep paying that same price.”

Host: Silence filled the space between them. The television flickered — footage of a flooded California town, then the headline: “Rising Tensions in the Pacific.” The contrast between worlds felt like a wound — global storms outside, personal ones within.

Jack: “You think it’s that simple — to just focus inward and hope the rest of the world behaves? We can’t ignore the predators just because we’re tired. Look at history: appeasement led to World War II. Ignoring aggression doesn’t make it go away.”

Jeeny: “And yet, obsession with control doesn’t create peace either. You can’t bomb your way to compassion, Jack. You can’t sanction your way into justice. Every empire that tried to police the world eventually forgot its people — and that’s what brought them down.”

Jack: “You’re quoting history, but missing the point. The strong survive. Always have.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe strength needs a new definition. Not just weapons and walls — but hospitals that heal, schools that teach, and leaders who listen. You call it idealism, but I call it the foundation of civilization.”

Host: The tension in the diner thickened. Outside, a bus roared by, splashing water against the curb. Jack’s hand tapped against the table, his eyes narrowing, the edge of conflict in every gesture.

Jack: “You think you can fix a country by feelings alone? The world isn’t a poetry book, Jeeny. It’s a chessboard.”

Jeeny: “And yet people aren’t chess pieces. Every move you make, every ‘strategic decision,’ costs someone their home, their job, their life. What kind of game treats suffering as collateral?”

Jack: “The only kind that keeps the board standing.”

Jeeny: “At what cost?”

Host: The question hung in the air, sharp as a blade. Jack looked away, his reflection caught in the diner’s window — rain streaming down like the fractures of a conscience he didn’t want to admit he had.

Jeeny: softly “Do you ever feel it, Jack? The fatigue? The way we’ve learned to talk about war and crisis like weather reports? The way ‘threats’ have become background noise while people drown in debt and despair?”

Jack: after a pause “Yeah. I feel it. But feelings don’t change the world, Jeeny. Power does.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the most radical power is caring.”

Jack: laughs bitterly “That’s not power. That’s a prayer.”

Jeeny: “Maybe we need both.”

Host: The laughter died quickly, replaced by a quiet hum of the city outside — sirens distant, rain softening to a mist. The neon sign outside blinked — OPEN… then OPE… then nothing but the hum of the old electric sign, struggling to stay alive.

Jeeny: “Kamala Harris said we can’t lose sight of domestic policy. Maybe what she meant wasn’t politics — but humanity. That we can’t keep treating the people of this country as a side note to some geopolitical game.”

Jack: “And maybe she meant that we have to do both — defend our borders and our humanity. That’s the paradox, isn’t it? The world demands vigilance, but our souls demand compassion.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “You’re starting to sound like me.”

Jack: shrugs “Don’t get used to it.”

Host: They both laughed, the kind of laughter that comes after too much truth. The tension in their shoulders eased, if only slightly.

Jeeny: “Do you know what I think, Jack?”

Jack: “I’m afraid to ask.”

Jeeny: “That maybe foreign policy and domestic policy aren’t opposites. They’re reflections. The way we treat our citizens shapes how we treat the world. If we’re cruel at home, we’ll be cruel abroad. If we’re compassionate here, we might finally lead by example.”

Jack: “And if the world doesn’t follow?”

Jeeny: “Then at least we’ll have stayed human.”

Host: Jack looked at her, his eyes softening — the storm within them dimming to a quiet tide. Outside, the rain had stopped. The streetlights shimmered against wet pavement, casting a gentle glow across the diner floor.

Jack: “Maybe that’s the real balance, Jeeny — power and empathy. Defense and healing. Maybe we can’t afford to choose.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the future begins when we stop pretending we have to.”

Host: The camera of the night pulled back, revealing the small diner as a fragile island of light amid the sprawling darkness of the city. Two voices, still lingering, still uncertain, but no longer opposed — like the faint echo of reason in a world too used to noise.
The rain had ended. The steam from their coffee rose in slow, delicate spirals, fading into the air like the last trace of argument — and the first quiet breath of understanding.