If somebody close to The President like maybe an old dead white guy whispered in his good ear how he’d be one of the youngest men on my ancient street the width of a doubles alley an hour south of Tokyo where the ladies could bathe him outdoors daily, learn to call him Joey and pillow him with cock rings, anal beads and other toys made of the finest natural materials from the seventeenth century I’d like to believe he might follow a more honorable path than the one involving four more years before him.