Here we see George W. Bush. He’s just woken up and looks around with obvious surprise in his eyes, he has no idea where he is because it’s pitch-black all around his bed, the narrow bed with white bed linen stretches out far in front of him, maybe even sixty-five feet or so, like a breakwater narrows out into the sea; George W. Bush sits up in bed and turns his head, he lifts up his duvet and sees that he has a thin book wedged between his legs, he lifts it up and reads: Golf Can’t Be This Simple, it says, and then he remembers, yes, he was reading this before he fell asleep, he’s going to play golf with his father today, but now it looks like he might have ended up somewhere strange, he gets up and starts to walk down the bed-breakwater, and he looks so fragile all of a sudden as he walks along in his flannel pajamas, his body language wary, what in God’s name is this, he thinks as he comes to the end of the breakwater: there’s a ladder leading down from the edge of the bed, an iron ladder, straight down: well, I don’t have a choice, do I, says Bush, and starts to climb down. Suddenly he sees glowing lava all around him, pouring down, like a stage curtain, everywhere, and he sees himself going down and down something that resembles a shaft: he looks down, he sees green grass down there and feels relief, because he was really starting to wonder, for a second or two, where on earth he was heading, but green grass is good, there’s no green grass in hell, and the closer he gets, the greater the certainty that he knows where he is, and it’s as though he is filled, slowly, with a kind of inner serenity, because the grass stretches out and out, he can see endless plains, I see the valley of peace below, Bush thinks, of peace, just that, of peace, it fills him with a kind of humility, as though he was full of warm tears, he puts his foot down on the grass and understands: he’s at the heart of the world, the center of the earth, and he is filled with a peace he didn’t know it was possible to feel, it just flows out of every atom in his body, it’s almost as if I could float, Bush thinks, what if, he thinks and tries to lie back with his hands held out from his body, as in water, and it works: when he lifts his legs, he floats! What the heck, I’m floating, Bush shouts, and then he wakes up and sees that he’s not at the center of the earth and he’s certainly not floating, he’s in his usual bed, in the big white house, and he probably hit his wife, his small white wife, in the face when he threw out his arms, but hasn’t woken her, thankfully, she’s lying asleep by his side. He wipes his brow, because that was the most incredible dream he’s ever had. He looks over at the bedside table, at Golf Can’t Be This Simple, which his wife gave him as a present, and touches it as though it were an object he’d never seen before, a dream object that will give him untold experiences.