Mark Leibovich spends time in the Pete Buttigieg bubble and learns a few things.

The next day, in the final hours of the convention, I was granted brief access to the inner swirl of this particular dust cloud. “Keep moving, keep moving,” someone called out as the entourage wound its way through a clogged concourse area. This was quite an exhilarating and exhausting 60-second interval, for me at least, trying to keep up with the Buttigieg Bubble as it moved through a wall of political-celebrity shrieks and convention chaos.

“Pete, photo, photo!” “Hi, Peeeete!” “Woooooo!”

“Make room, make room! Coming through, coming through!”

“Peeeeete, over here, over here!”

We turned a corner. Buttigieg ducked through an open door, and I was directed to follow him. Suddenly it was just the two of us in a quiet holding space, an oversize closet adorned with chairs and empty soda cans. I was sweating and out of breath. Buttigieg is not a sweating-and-out-of-breath kind of person. Still, he admitted to me, “This is probably the least sleep I’ve had since before the kids started sleeping through the night.” (He and his husband, Chasten, have 3-year-old twins.)

Buttigieg has always been a gifted communicator, but he has become renowned lately for his subspecialty of jumping into pro-Trump media hornet’s nests and delivering tidy, often viral Democratic messages while simultaneously eviscerating his often hostile hosts. “Here’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear myself saying,” he began his convention-stage speech in Chicago. “I’m Pete Buttigieg, and you might recognize me from Fox News.” The crowd responded with an immediate and knowing roar.

For a few seconds, I thought Harris might actually pick Buttigieg for vice president. Of course, she’s much smarter than me and went a different route. There’s no doubt Pete Buttigieg should have a significant role in a potential Harris administration. I vote for Secretary of State.