The trees are arrayed like sentinels around a small stage. They look intensely aware in the afternoon sunlight. In contrast, the security guards in their black sunglasses look merely nervous.
Blue Santa is dancing with a nude woman. He gestures to the crowd with proud fists. Hundreds of people have gathered here, mostly to enjoy a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Blue Santa sits back down on his recliner and his head is blown off his body, sailing into the crowd just as they hear a loud sound like a Tchaikovsky cannon. The recliner is flaming violently. Soon, all they will see of it will be a column of black smoke. Women in the proximity of the head are tirelessly screaming.
Donald is in a subway car. The woman across from him is wearing open-toed platform sandals. Her toenails are gray. She looks around, desperately looking for something, but focuses on nothing. When the train reaches her stop, Donald hands her his business card. On the back, he has written, "Your toes are so sad."
