Last night I dreamt I was riding a crowded school bus, the venue for a debate between the presidential candidates, Donald Trump and Joseph Stiglitz. Trump was standing at the front, tall with an improved haircut, sounding thoughtful and presidential. "Stiglitz," a short disheveled man with a gray mustache, was seated nearby, mumbling. He did not look at all like the real Joe Stiglitz. At one point he stood, interrupting Trump, and started a rambling professorial disquisition, something about inequality, but difficult to follow. From behind me, a couple of bros heckled him. "Trump is going to win," I said to myself.
I was awakened by the garbage truck, making its Friday morning rounds.
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Alfred Stieglitz would have made mincemeat of The Donald.
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