Dreams

In a fantasy land, I sit at a large round white conference table, all the seats filled with men.
Trump sits to my right, a short-brown-bearded husky middle-aged white guy to my left.
Someone gives a shot glass filled with alcohol to each man at the table, going around more than once.
One round is an orange-juice-like drink.
People encourage me to drink each shot that I am given and I do.
It's like a convention and people are trying to promote their alcohol with free samples.
After being given a whiskey type drink, Trump says Two and holds up a peace sign.
The server hesitates, since they are supposed to give each person only one.
Trump says Two again, motioning his fingers, like he expects to get what he wants, like he is special.
Everyone around is awkward, expecting the server to make an exception, then they do.
I drink two of the same kind in a row.
There are 8 or more shots in front the guy to my left, somehow I get the idea that each shot represents a letter in 'Star Wars' . . . .