Alvin(II)
The first time I saw him, he entered a cubicle. You could hear him straining and muttering curses as I quietly replenished toilet rolls in the adjacent cubicles. I remained loitering silently in one of those conveniences as he emerged, still muttering, to wash his famously tiny hands. He was bulkier than I had imagined and even from behind I could see how swollen his ankles were. Beyond the restroom door muffled disco music seeped inside from the golden ballroom. "Beautiful!" he exclaimed to his own reflection as he preened what remained of his weird hair. It seemed amazing that I was effectively alone in that rest room with the bloated forty seventh president of The United States of America who clearly imagined that he was King of the World and perfectly safe in his Florida palace . However, like millions of other earthlings, I thought of him as a narcissistic fraud, a dangerous fake president whose rampant authoritarianism needed to be stopped in its tracks. He had ...