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The White House Dream
The sheer poetry of winning
Frozen blood stains the snow outside the White House. It’s a typical January in Washington, 2025, unless you call an autocrat naming himself President of the United States as surprising.
There are seven hundred bodies on the grounds of the white house, a thousand more on the steps of the Supreme Court.
Tension in the country is so sharp that it would cut the heart out of Democracy. The unelected President has called for his supporters to form an army and named his son the Chief of Staff.
“How does it feel, Dad? President again, and MAGA’s supreme leader.”
“I want those MAGA suckers to form a new Third Reich. I want the leader of the Democrat Party, and the January 6th committee arrested and put on trial for treason and I want illegal, non Christians deported.”
“Mr Trump, wake up, sir. Sir, you’ve lost the election to a black woman and a guy with a neurodivergent son. Mr Trump, sir. You’re fucked sir.”
Medium: Please let me know if you are concerned about tagging my followers. I will understand. If Medium wishes to be tagged, I will happily add to my tags.
I also set aside two hours daily to read as many friends as possible. This might appear to be block claps or responses, but it is…
