MAGA: Blood Grudge

Orange and pink painted the horizon as clouds rolled along the tops of skyscrapers.  I took a drag on my cigarette then tossed back the rest of my liquor. From my penthouse balcony, I watched the sun set on my empire. Every bank, every government office, every important building as far as the eye could see had my flag, my mark, on it somewhere–the front door, the marble tiled lobbies, the very tops so first-class passengers could see, even on the goddamn urinals sometimes.

That’s how it used to be, anyway.

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