I can’t sleep for some reason, so I find myself thinking about this scenario. What if Tuesday or the next day New York Magazine runs a story purporting to have a little bit of evidence that Donald Trump was Shera Bechard’s babydaddy?
A lot depends on if the story gets any traction or not. If it got some traction and I — simply because of my enormous paper trail if nothing else — became a part of the narrative, my first inclination would be to say fuck it and get on the ChinaTown bus and head to New York City.
But that would be extremely irrational because, well, what would I expect would happen once I got there?
That won’t happen, though, so I have no reason to keep thinking about it.
I need to try to sleep.