A Dream About Donald J Trump – Issue 9

“Well, I really enjoyed this conversation. It was genuinely illuminating … uhh, should I call you James or Mr. Trump?” “Call me James.” He said. “Feels kinda weird to be on first name basis, but I guess I’m the one that asked the dumb question.” I thought to myself. “Thanks, James.” He reaches out his hand for a handshake. I felt a surge of connection and appreciation rise up in my chest. “Are you up for a hug instead?” I said, extending my arms. “Sure thing.” We shared an embrace and left the side room. As I went to get a drink in the main hall, fondly thinking back to the interaction, thinking to myself that I should send a follow-up message reflecting on a couple of good points he made… I woke up.1 It was a slow coming to wakefulness, and as I crossed the threshold of consciousness, recognizing that the interaction I just had wasn’t real, what I felt was profound disappointment. In fact, I did not just meet a kind and thoughtful man who was quite different from his public persona, a

“Well, I really enjoyed this conversation. It was genuinely illuminating … uhh, should I call you James or Mr. Trump?” “Call me James.” He said. “Feels kinda weird to be on first name basis, but I guess I’m the one that asked the dumb question.” I thought to myself. “Thanks, James.” He reaches out his hand for a handshake. I felt a surge of connection and appreciation rise up in my chest. “Are you up for a hug instead?” I said, extending my arms. “Sure thing.” We shared an embrace and left the side room. As I went to get a drink in the main hall, fondly thinking back to the interaction, thinki