A Wasteland President, Part 8

Trump woke up again for the second time that night, this time prodded by a rough stretch of cat tongue. Once his eyes were fully opened he “ahhh’d!” out of the chair, startled by the mean-spirited cow face which was the source of the tongue.

Michelle stirred, but Barack slept on, and Trump sighed.  This night had been magical but a little terrifying. It would be nice to get a little alone time. Maybe he would prowl the streets just to see how civilization turned out in his absence. A hundred years without him. Must’ve been pretty devastating.

Before he left, he covered up the Obamas. It was a little chilly. Just a little bit.  He cleared the parking lot in less than a minute, eager to explore his surroundings. No cars blocked his path. No people choked the sidewalks to glare at his gold watches. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel judged, and it felt terrific.

Trump took a deep breath and decided to head across the street. Various fast food chains were over there. A few shops. He’d get his mojo back!

He decided to head to the Shocko Bell first. He hadn’t eaten in awhile. The drive-thru was empty, so he decided to walk through it anyway. That way, no waiting in line. After he approached the window, it opened, allowing a muscled green hand to grab his stainless shirt collar and attempt to pull him through the window.


A Wasteland President, Part 7

A Wasteland President, Part 9

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