By now, everybody knows about the entrance.
No one’s surprised it’s Trump Tower.
You can be innocuous or conspicuous.
You’re heading to the Lower Level.
Behind a guarded door, they are.
The Manhattan Volunteers for Trump.
You’re not allowed to take photos.
But the one image that will singe your mind until the lights go out is Trump giving the thumbs-up, superimposed over Reagan; behind and to the right, and John Wayne, behind and to the left.
Otherwise, the room is scantly furnished in random memorabilia or pageantry.
The people here are friendly.
They will feed you.
But because of a surprise visit from Trump, boozed up and having shaken free of his security, a “new” Trump plan emerged that a disagreement over was allegedly the real reason for the dumping of Corey Lewandowski:
Trump’s plan on making Mexico the “51 State”.
“I’ll get it for cheap!” he raved after staggering inside.
His jacket was open, his shirt was torn. He was still holding a bottle.
The label was obscured by his huge hands.
“Fuck minimum wage!” Trump roared. “You wanna work, go down to Mexico! There’ll be whores and gambling! Hell, I may even cut into Vegas’ action. Keep drugs legal for a while.”
None could believe what they were hearing or seeing.
Although cell phones are allowed and encouraged, they are to be used only to dial out for the Trump campaign.
And as Trump supporters, who’s to tell if they would have seized the moment?
If they’d have thought outside of themselves and recorded the thing, this would have been for them, the change of life that only comes from being around filming when Rodney King is being beaten or when Ali’s demanding that Liston get up.
“All we have to do is send in some cops, don’t even need the military,” Trump continued.
Clearly, these weren’t his first thoughts on the matter.
“And we could kill more people,” he continued, almost as an afterthought.
He was now atop one of the desks. He seemed to regard his audience for the first time.
He finally realized he wasn’t alone.
And he eyed each other eye in the room And he said, “You know one of the worst things about ending a war is that you probably haven’t checked out all the best possible places to build a choice hotel. The Big Guns have to do that. And I’m in no mood to go to Iraq. But I will go to Mexico. Put up the biggest building in the entire country. Fuck it; the world! “Trump’s Super Tower”. “Super Trump’s Tower”, I haven’t quite decided on the name yet. Huge! And I would do a tremendous job! And the best news is, I wouldn’t need Mark Zuckerberg to give me 53 million dollars to get my ideas out into the universe. There’d be more safe havens from terrorism and more places to keep Muslims out of. And Mexicans, once criminal, deranged lunatic rapists, now become Americans. How could anyone lose?”
And suddenly, finally he shrunk, worn out.
Security entered and our ordeal was over.