046

Adam Whitacre woke to a quiet in the East Wing. His dream of Muppets protesting the NRA still echoed in his brain. The television remote lay close at hand, as he shook off the fog of sleep. He realized that he rather desperately needed to urinate. He bumbled his way to the bathroom and sunk down onto the toilet. All 72 years of him sagged. His ostentatious gold silk pajama set made his flesh appear to glow pink in the harsh lighting.
The staff would show soon; the only people allowed to see him like this. Old. Tired. Clueless.