Murphy's Law kicks Trump in the ass CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
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"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong". Murphy's Law
Trump took the Iron Horse out to Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn, to check on the state of his $921,000.23. Prospect Park had been closed for a long time since "the Labor Day Ganja Riot." (This is the name given by The New York Post to the tragic events of that evening and night and it's what almost everyone is calling it.)
He took double strides up the stairway up to the street level of the number two- three train stop at Grand Army Plaza. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings because he wasn't familiar with this area on foot, which is different from the orientation that one gets behind the wheel of a taxi at night.
After he figured out which way he had to walk Trump stopped at the famous news stand there where the very first VILLAGE VOICEs used to go on sale every Wednesday night, got himself a diet Doctor Pepper, popped open the can, took a swig and set out in the right direction.
As he was approaching the entrance to Prospect Park he started feeling great dismay and in fact his readings went off the charts. (I have one of my babies riding the soft side of his left knee.) His knees started buckling. He dropped the soda can and leaned up against the apartment building that happened to be the landmark One Prospect Park West, where the late former Governor Hugh Carey once lived.
What he saw was a lot of fencing and a sign declaring that there was a major landscaping in progress. He shook himself and told himself that it couldn't be. He caught his breath, gathered his strength and took a hundred paces parallel to the park wall that runs along Prospect Park West. It seemed that the landscaping project took in quite a bit more than the area of 100 yards into the park.
The grounds were intact, There was a concrete block just where Louie's map said it would be. The problem was it was fenced on all sides. Getting a good look at the picture Trump realized that he could never move that block and do that digging without help. He lurched towards a park bench. He almost collapsed before he got his ass firmly on the wooden slats. He blacked out, tumbled off the bench and landed on a pedestrian path, opening up a nasty gash over his right eye.
He was taken by ambulance to Methodist Hospital in Park Slope, on Seventh Avenue. He came to in the ambulance. They decided to hold him overnight at the hospital because it seemed that he had suffered a concussion.
And let me tell you. I'm not feeling too great myself. Somehow I'm going to have to maneuver Trump, Jones, and probably at least two others into digging this money up which would be the easy part, the hard part would be dealing them out. If I know this devious taxi driver at all, and I think I do, his mind is on the same track as mine.
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