A Wasteland President, Part 16 4

It was still dark when Donald raided another Shocko Bell. The stars glittered as he casually devoured the chicken tacos placed haphazardly on his lap. He didn’t know what Barack was on about. Go up to the counter, ask for good, receive food. Simple as that. Plus, he was showing the world that he didn’t need the Secret Service or private jets or adulation to survive. He could survive on the purified nut of mother nature.

The parking lot of the Shocko Bell was understandably empty, except for Donald of course. More cow-faced cats prowled beyond the lights provided by the franchise. They were waiting for a quick and easy meal.

“I know what you’re after,” Donald said to them. “And you’re not getting for it. You’re going to have to work for it like I did.”

One of the cats looked at him fiercely, and then quickly jumped into the bushes. Donald was a little spooked by that. He decided to get up and then walk quickly to the nearest road, which was crumbling and studded with potholes. The road was poorly lit, oozing darkness. He decided to walk until something happened. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for a blue Cadillac to pull up beside him.

“You look a little under the weather. Why don’t you get in the back. Take a load off,” a rough-looking man in his fifties said, pulling on Donald’s sleeve to anchor him to the vehicle.

“Okay,” Donald replied, sliding into the backseat with a grace few enjoyed. The driver turned to look at him, his eyes glowing like one of the cow-faced cats. Donald was more spooked now than he was being alone in that parking lot.

“I’ve been following you for some time. Quietly.”

“My people would’ve noticed,” Donald said haughtily.

“You don’t have people. But I can change that.”


“I think you should run for President.” The man who spoke wore a long hood. His voice sounded positively…senatorial.

“I’ve been floating the idea around. I like the way you think.”

The man leaned closer to Donald. The hood grazed a sweaty forehead. “Let me put it to…you…this way. Palm Beach–nay–all of Florida, needs your help. But more importantly, you need Florida’s help.”

Donald squinted. “I don’t really understand.”

“You’re a talker, not a thinker. And that makes you the most important man alive. More importantly, if you want to remain that way, you’ll have to ascend to the presidency. Florida memorial cannot cure what ails you. But the government can. What do you say?”

Donald’s head dropped. “The people won’t elect me looking like this.”

“Oh, you…underestimate…your ability to inspire pity. You ran on anger. Run on pity now. For your sake. For…Florida’s sake.”

Donald was wondering what was wrong with the man. Why was he pausing so much when he spoke? He didn’t have much time to ponder that question as the Cadillac abruptly stopped. Secret Service men were getting out of the vehicle blocking its path. They didn’t look happy.

A Wasteland President, Part 15

A Wasteland President, Part 1



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