Dear President Trump,
So, you wanted to be president, huh? How’d that work out?? Ya know, I’ve actually followed your life for a while now, but only because it has been entirely unavoidable. Your name is everywhere. The first time I became aware of Trump in my memory was when it was painted on the side of a plane I was flying on from LaGuardia to Logan. There was a flight every day from New York to Boston then, maybe even several. The tickets were cheap, dad said, otherwise he would’ve avoided it because of something he knew about the realty business in New York and something about the practices of the Trump family. Yada-yada-yada, I was too young to care, I was off to the Cape to see my Baba, but it was funny that the plane had your name on it. I thought about whether I would put my own name on the side of a plane if I went ahead and started an airline company in the future. I decided it was a bit much, really, even at 11. It would be weird to see MATSON on the side of a plane, but I admired the bravado. I thought you must be pretty successful and important of a guy.