At the center of the microcosm that Donald Trump imagines existing inside the head of the average elderly, rural supporter, the internet is a single, immense white room, with doors that can be opened and closed. Where empty, almost bodiless, people float like paper balloons, and the sound of thunder and laughter can be heard just outside.
The very best people, the winners, built this place. God knows why, but they can end part or all of it, with just the puff of their breath, like blowing on a candle. Will they? Only if he asks in the right way, and with the right words, at the right time.
Is this the world inside your head, Iowan farmer?
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