the sun smiled gently down on a well-tended public park.
an old man sat on a bench, staring into space.
a much younger man approached him, with a polite smirk.
excuse me, may i ask what you are looking at?
a picture of trump triumphantly entering the kingdom of kingdoms.
you are, then, a follower of the so-called maga movement.
i beg your pardon, i do not quite understand you.
are you not referring to the 45th and 47th american president?
why no, i meant trump vii, renowned emperor of atlantis.
and who might he have been? the young man asked.
it is not who he might have been, but is.
so the empire of atlantis is right now in existence?
what is it to you if it is, eh? eh?
i’m sorry, i was merely trying to improvise polite conversation.
i am afraid you were doing nothing of the sort.
what do you take me for? the young man implored.
i know exactly what you are - a spy for mudlark!
a man in a light brown trenchcoat approached the pair.
are you zachary colin marchmont? he asked the young man.
why yes i am - officer, if i am not mistaken?
and you, sir, are you not mister john jacoby lassiter?
i have the misfortune to be that most unhappy personage.
your jigs are both up, gentlemen - please come with me.
a grey sedan halted on the graveled path behind them.
neither marchmont nor lassiter resisted - they knew the game.
i never got to feed the poor ducks, lassiter lamented.
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