When I imagine life without Donald Trump, what I’m picturing is something like the final scene of the disaster film: the zombies have been beaten back, the Martians have returned to their planet, the dinosaurs are extinct once again, the floods have receded, the wildfires safely extinguished. The sun is shining, the sky is clear, the birds – those birds that are left – are sweetly singing. The last living humans find one another, and we know what they are thinking even if they don’t speak.
They are thinking: it’s over. We’ve survived. Our country has been restored to us. We can breathe again.
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfr ... -of-relief
Δυο πραγματα ειναι αχωριστα απο το ψεμα, οι πολλες υποσχεσεις και οι πολλες δικαιολογιες.