I’m on a date. It’s a coffee date, a quaint little place in the heart of Neo-Miami. I’m wearing a full body coating of golden spray paint and a button down floral shirt. She’s wearing her sundress in one of three approved colors (sunshine yellow) as required by law. She has accessorized, layering a red vest overtop it. A name tag is affixed to her bosom. Not technically illegal, but I still make a mental note of her bold fashion choice, concerned that this display of rebelliousness could indicate a potential threat to my safety. Don’t fall asleep around this one, I think to myself. She’s talking. I’m trying to game out whether I could defeat her in combat if she had a knife. She stares at me expectantly. After a pause, she repeats her question. “Where have you worked?” “I kill people who smoke weed.” I pull out my killing gun so she can see it. “There aren’t many left anymore. Back in the day you could collect on the bounty two, sometimes three times a week.” I massage the rim of the barrel with my middle and index fingers suggestively, glancing up at her and then back down at the gun a few times to see if she notices. There’s a small commotion outside. A Health and Human Services van has released a pack of wolves into the street to cull the elderly and unfit. We watch the unfolding scene together in silence, amused. At least, I am amused. I note disapprovingly that she seems somewhat queasy. I wipe my sweaty hands on her arm. She asks me to describe my strengths. “Donald Trump will be 160 years old next year. He won’t be around to protect us forever. It pains me to say it, but we have to be realistic about these kinds of things. You’ll need someone to protect you when he’s gone.” Across the street, a group of children take turns jumping in a pile of expired drones. A beleaguered adult plods towards them, his boots crunching drones in the grass. He shoos them away and reconstitutes the pile with his gardening rake. “I can protect you, baby girl. I’ve been chewing on a habanero pepper the entire time we’ve been talking. You didn’t notice, did you? I have perfect mastery over my mind and body. The pain in my mouth is excruciating. You had no idea.” “So that’s why you’re so sweaty” she tells me. She doesn’t sound as horny as I expected. A classy girl, I think to myself. Discreet. She’ll make a good mother. At the table next to us, two young men have been inching closer together, stealing shy glances and exchanging whispers. Finally, one leans in for a kiss. The moment his lips make contact, his Neuralink’s Anti-Homosexuality protocol kicks in, activating a C-4 nodule encased in his skull. His head explodes. “He got what he deserved.” I tell my date. “There’s brain in my coffee.” she replies. She asks me to describe my weaknesses. “When they tried to assassinate Trump, they thought he would cower. They even made a movie about it. Have you ever seen the movie Civil War? In the movie the journalists watch the President begging for his life. This was back when there were still journalists.” “Get to the point.” she tells me. “They thought he would beg for his life, but they were wrong. They’ve tried to take him out 30 times and each time he’s only gotten braver. Last week Trump fought back. Disemboweled the attacker with his bare hands right there in the Oval Office. Ate his heart and liver. You saw the video, right?” “I saw it” she replies, quickly. “I don’t think I could do that. I don’t think I could kill a man with just my hands. I don’t think I could eat his insides. Not raw. I’d have to cook them, at least. I’m not strong like Donald Trump.” It’s getting dark. Pinpricks of incandescent light emanating from skyscrapers blend seamlessly with the stars. She writes something down. “Give me an example of a time when you used problem solving skills to address an issue.” “It used to be when you sent a latina money to eat an entire pizza on video she’d just take the money and ghost you. They come from what’s called a ‘low-trust culture’. It got so bad that towards the end even some of the white girls were starting to do it. They were learning from them. The social fabric was breaking down. Then Donald Trump made it illegal to be latina. Problem solved.” “I asked about you, not Don-” I hold up a finger to shush her. It’s time to urinate. There’s a potted plant nearby that’ll do nicely. Diners avert their eyes to avoid jealousy while I do my business. I pull up my pants before the last bit of pee dribbles out. It runs down my leg. Pheromones. I return to my seat. She asks me if there’s anything else I’d like to tell her. “When we make love you’re going to dress like Ahsoka Tano, specifically from Clone Wars Season 1 episode 18, the one where she’s infected with a virus and the way they animate that makes it look like she’s wearing goth eye shadow. Your facepaint is in my van.” My date is quiet for a moment. She looks down at her laptop and back up. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re going to end up going with another applicant. You’re not a good fit for the Target front end manager position.” She starts putting away her papers, getting ready to leave. I wink seductively with my left eye and then my right eye, drawing out the gesture to make sure she notices. “I think this went well.” I tell her. The twinkling lights of a distant drone swarm form the shape of Donald Trump, his arms stretched wide to embrace the Earth.