I was being strapped into what was referred to as the “go-kart” (it was more like an electric wheelchair.) Elizabeth Warren despised go-karting, but had committed to regularly driving one among her constituents in order to show how much she liked it. Today I was playing Elizabeth Warren so that she didn’t have to.
I drove through the streets, avoiding obstacles and giving a senatorial wave. When I arrived at the picnic tents, it was unclear how many people thought I was Elizabeth Warren and how many knew I was myself. I sensed that most people believed I was her, but that elites and other senators saw through me
I bantered with the constituents.
“I started wearing velvet because I was losing my hair. My wife said it would fix it,” said a middle-aged man.
“And just look at you now!” I joked, pointing at his bald head. Everyone laughed. The man looked very sad.
Senator Blumenthal pulled me aside.
“Listen, you little pissant, I know what you’re up to.”
“Senator, I’m afraid I don’t know who you are,” I said, grinning. He couldn’t press the point, because he knew that I knew his father (his son’s grandfather) had been a Soviet collaborator.
* * * *
We prisoners of war were being kept in Hitler’s apartment. It was the last days of the war, and Hitler only had control of a small sector of Berlin in the blocks around his apartment. We never saw Hitler, though, and our guards were clearly unenthused about their jobs, letting us freely plot various escape plans.
I helped the guinea pig to escape by tossing her out the window. But she came back.
“How will I escape?” she said.
“Through the window,” I replied, exasperated after having already shown her.
“There’s nothing for a guinea pig out there,” she said wistfully.
After going for a walk to survey some recent bomb-damage, Ryan Cooper returned to the apartment with hundreds of toys, in giant sacks. I told him the toys were useless, that we wouldn’t be able to take toys with us when we escaped.
“Berlin is full of them,” he said.