Trump Goes to Hell

“Take the escalator,” St. Peter said. “It’s the one going down.”

They say there’s a bright tunnel, a welcoming chorus, a beaming reunion with the lost and beloved. He got the tunnel, sure, but the light was gaudy, with a little neon edge to it, as if someone had gold-leafed the sun and marked it up fifty percent. The chorus was a loop of his own applause lines, tinny and off-tempo. He had the odd sensation of dying i…