“We’re gonna get murdered.” I unlocked Donald Trump’s private jet with stolen keys.
“It was your choice,” Jack said. “You wanna switch?”
“No.” I climbed into the cockpit and consulted the WikiTheft page on flying a stolen jet.
Somehow we took off. Somehow we flew to Mexico City and crash-landed in the busiest airport in Central America.
Somehow we spray-painted “To Mexico, love Donny” on the side and escaped the authorities.
“It’s your turn,” I said as we sat on a sidewalk, trying to think how to get home.
Jack looked thoughtful. “I think I’d better pick Truth this time.”