In life, we often face moments that define us — moments of deep struggle, unexpected triumph, and transformation.
It’s morning, New Years Day, 2030. After a night of revelry, Americans are waking up to a dancing hologram, by now familiar, floating over their beds. Donald Trump’s three-dimensional image gyrates enthusiastically if irrhythmically to the dreaded YMCA song, tiny fists boxing the air as everyone grabs the covers. Swinging a flyswatter, throwing a shoe or spraying disinfectant at the specter does nothing; running is equally pointless as Trump’s hologram dances right along into the bathroom.
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