Out on a golf course near Camp David, hole number 10, three choppers appear on the horizon. Putting dos y dos together, I assume it’s El Hombre Maximo Himself, so I make a giant “O” with both arms. The choppers change course, hover overhead, training the high beams on me.
It’s he, I know. O.
The choppers move on.
I knock the next one into the deep Bush.