In my mind, I was traveling through the hot, dry landscape of Nevada and headed toward the mecca of debauchery and decadence: Las Vegas. The Trump Tower shimmered in the distance like a mean-spirited heathen God of diseased greed; rapturous and belching out the capitalistic indulgence of America as if in the throes of passion.
I woke from my nap to see the beady little eyes of that orange-toned man on television in his ubiquitous white shirt, red tie and dark blue suit proclaiming his victimhood as his decades-long fleecing of America now has him cornered in a stuffy Manhattan courtroom while prospective jurors eye him like a caged orangutan that likes to fling its own feces at the crowd.
