3 Stories about the 45th President of the United States by Grant Gerald Miller
THE 45TH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES AND I WENT TO THE POST OFFICE
The 45th President of the United States and I went to the post office. We were waiting in line when a naked man staggered into the post office, threw his hands into the air, and cried out: BEWARE THE FUTURE! The man rested his arms at his side and turned and walked out of the post office. Am I dreaming? The 45th President of the United States asked me. I don’t think so, I said. Pinch me, he said. I pinched his arm. Slap me, he said. I slapped him. Cut my head off with an axe, he said. I don’t have an axe, I said. NEXT IN LINE, the postal clerk yelled. Stop horsing around, the 45th President of the United States said.
THE 45TH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AND I ATTEMPTED TO TAKE A SELFIE
The 45th President of the United States of America and I took a selfie. We found the perfect wall and scratched at the layers of paint with our fingernails. You have nice cuticles, the 45th President said. Do you get manicures? I’ve never had a manicure, I told him. I don’t know what to do with these old things, the 45th President said. He held up his hands and fanned out his fingers. His fingers were webbed like a duck’s foot. They looked like they had been burned in a fire. They cast a shadow on the wall. I pulled a Sharpie out of my pocket and traced the 45th president’s silhouette. We stepped back and looked. The shadow looked like a dead bird. Am I a dead bird? The 45th President of the United States asked me. I don’t think so, I said. He put his arm around my shoulder and held his smartphone at arm’s length and took our photo. What do you think? The 45th President asked me. I looked at the screen. In the photo I was alone.
THE 45TH PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES AND I WENT TO DEVIL’S POINT
The 45th President and I went to The Devil’s Point for Stipperaoke. We argued about whether we should do “Islands in the Stream” or “Time of My Life,” when the KJ reminded us that only one of us could be on stage at a time anyway. You don’t want to be kicked in the head by a dancer, do you? The KJ said. The 45th president of the United States pulled out his wallet to bribe the KJ, but there was no money. He turned his wallet over and shook it. He had no money, but an alphabet poured from his wallet and scattered all over the dance floor. We scrambled to clean the alphabet up, but all the dancers, the customers, and even the men playing the Video Lottery machines in the corner came over and started to make words out of the 45th President’s alphabet. Words were made and hurled into the air. The bartenders filled their tip jars with words. Dancers crammed words into their bras. The Video Poker men came over to us and smiled and shook our hands and filled their bulging pockets with words and shuffled out of the club. In the kitchen, I saw a line cook roll words in flour, then egg, then more flour, and toss them into the deep fryer. The smell of the cooking words made us all stop. The entire dance club gathered and gazed into the kitchen, none of us had realized how hungry we were.