The President of the United States awoke in the middle of the night. Her wife remained asleep beside her. She quietly arose, tiptoed across the room and down the hall to the bathroom, nodding to the guard on the way. As she came out, a little more refreshed, she stopped to taste the moment. The guard asked her if everything was alright, the answer to which is never really yes, but to say otherwise would be an invitation for sympathy, and she hated the sympathy of others. She tightened her robe and sat down on one of the hallway chairs. She began telling the guard about her dream, about the boat and the red rabbit and how Elton John was there, but he didn’t have any legs because of the war, or something. Dreams rarely make much sense. She then realised she probably shouldn’t be divulging the manifestations of her deepest thoughts to a guard, lest she give something away she ought not to give. So she bade him goodnight and went back to bed.