Down on the White House lawn he sees the Trumps are holding a barbecue, Tony Blair in tight Spandex shorts turning the sausages, Putin bronzing himself in a leopard-skin bikini, venerable guests including Jerry Falwell and Jimmy Swaggart, shade-wearing CIA men paddling in the duck pond with black suits and rolled-up trousers.
Sometimes at this point he has a long, impassioned debate with the head of Atta about theology, politics and nihilism; sometimes Atta’s corpse hands him a cluster of children’s balloons in the shape of animals so he can float away if he so desires. He never does – he must stay on course, see this through.
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