Trump sat back and enjoyed the ride, as he was ordered to do. He didn’t mind being scolded or ordered around, as long as the advice was intelligent and helped him construct a better future.
He couldn’t help but notice how “lean” the buildings looked. They were smaller and shorter than the grand offerings he remembered. There weren’t any trees, either. All he could see were stumps. He grunted.
“You okay back there, Donald?” Michelle asked.
“Look, there’s at least one bottle near your feet. Do what you gotta do.”
“Nah. I’m fine. Just thinking, is all.”
“Okay,” Obama said. “Just be careful.”
“You’re so mean to him.”
“It’s just a little ribbing among former Presidents. He can take it,” Barack said, looking back at Trump and nodding coldly.
Donald knew he wasn’t telling the truth. He nodded back and looked out the window. He beat Obama once. He could beat him again. In fact, he was being driven down this arguably beautiful landscape by them. That was a small victory already.
“You know, I’m living life and not having to do a damn thing. Feels alright,” Trump said and smirked. They probably wouldn’t get what he was talking about, and that made it all the sweeter. Michelle looked back at him, mystified. He felt bad, like he had eaten too much ice cream, or gorged himself on too many television channels. Anyway. Trump went back to looking out the window.
The world was so very lean-looking. Like even the buildings had been starved. And the stumps. He couldn’t get over the stumps. Did the apocalypse end the world or just tip it over the edge?