what in 2017
A very old, very small caravan somewhere in the dark.
A flash light searching; bearer is an old woman.
She knocks gently on the door of the caravan, but no reaction from inside.
After a while she tries with the light to look through a window.
She knocks again, louder; then she turns to the public without seeing them.
Old Woman: She 's not at home, I think.
Again she knocks, this time very hard.
O: She 's not here; she 's out.
Then raising her shoulders: Or she 's dead.
O sits on something in front of the caravan with reflecting attitude, hand under chin.
O: I want to know my chances. The old witch might tell, but she 's not here in her old little caravan.
O: I am sixty eight now but many world leaders have or had old age.
I don't think I will be victim of Alzheimer.
The doctors treated my skin very well.
She stands up her feet.
O: I wonder what method the old witch uses. Percentage of good predictions must be very high, I heard.
She walks a little bit, turns her head.
O: Although of course not many people come to her about chances in presidential elections. Ha, ha. She might have a score of hundred percent if I am the only one visiting her on that purpose.
O, reflective: I hope she will have nice message for me.
Clapping her hands joyously: And score a hundred percent.
Some other noise is heard and she stops, rather frightened.
O: What was that. Nobody should see me here.
She hides in the shade of the caravan.
A rather fat man with pleasant complexion and reddish hair enters the scene.
Fat man: It must be here somewhere.
Ah, there is the little old caravan I was told about. The witch must live here.
He inspects the caravan with his eyes, doing some steps.
F: That 's a really old thing. Not worth anything anymore.
In fact worth nothing. I cannot spend one dollar of my many billions on it or I would be crazy.
He addresses to the public without seeing them, raising his shoulders.
F: Some people do have queer hobbies like living in such an old small caravan. If the witch is really good she can earn millions.
I might take her to the stock exchange.
In disguise of course.
F knocks softly on the door. After a while he tries to look through a window.
F knocks harder; then shakes the caravan a bit.
F: Madam, please awake. I want you to work on my future, I mean tell me what chances I have.
No reaction.
F: Please, I pay very well.
(Aside: Surely my investment here I'll get back ten or hundred fold if the witch is really capable as I am informed from best sources).
F scratches behind his ear, then walks around the caravan and unseen by the public bumps on the old woman.
Some shrieks and cries by both an they reappear on the scene before the caravan.
O and F: What are you doing here?
Then both smile and with their fingers indicating the caravan,
O and F: The witch!
F: My chances.
O: My chances.
A bit of silence, walking and sitting.
F: She's not at home.
O: Or she's dead.
F: Do you think so?
O: No, she'll be out.
F: How much did you intend to pay her?
O: That 's not your business.
O: Surely you can pay more from your billions, but I think she 's not out for big money like you.
F: Do you mean that this witch won't be interested when I ask her to predict my chances?
O: I don't know; although I hope so.
F: You don't like me!
O: Oh, you are just an american; I like americans, all of them.
O: Especially when voting for me.
F: I have better plans than you.
O: Like everybody becoming a billionaire?
F: Don't cheat me. Do you want to get rid of your many millions of dollars?
O: Perhaps we should have consult from the witch together. Seeing both of us at the same time she may be able to concentrate better and give more precise prediction.
F: If we go to her together she may think that we belong to the same party, I mean if she does not read papers or does not watch tv.
O redresses her hair with her hands.
O: That would be funny. You and me together in that Washington mansion.
F: I as number One and you my vice.
O: No, I primus inter pares and you my vice.
F: I own much more dollars than you and can spend much more, have much bigger bying capacity.
O: Young people don't like your fat belly; they prefer a lean person without billions of money only for himself.
Far away some music and singing is heard.
O: We must go. Nobody should see us here at the door of the old witch.
F: And certainly not together you and me.
O: May be not now, yet may be later.
O: There is n't much difference in our politics.
F: That 's right; we don't want big changes.
They disappear in opposite directions.
A singer comes on the scene, in joyous mood, playing with a basketball, doing tricks and shining around with his torch light.
Gradually it becomes understandable what he sings:
ballad of the trador
I manage getting rid of any steeple;
firmly stands the mount of capitalism,
donkeys and elephants don't have real schism.
My turkish friend to kurds all right behaves,
admire javanese keep papuans as slaves.
Our Mammon tells us do your business;
I am the president, must sanction this.
Though old Hillary longing for power
I think should take cold shower.
How sad America at finest hour
fails to present young beautiful flower
Those French guys with their égalité
long time are dead, have no more say;
Liberty I call my nuclear submarine.
A millionaire I am which sets decisive scene.
Yet pity Lizz of british ally:
if true the first will be the last,
if she 's to heaven slow or fast
then there must toilets clean éternally
(there is something wrong)
I pray, I prayed and I will pray
victorious election day.
Then we the "haves" in White House sit,
leaving poor loosers mud and our sh...
S goes on, shines a last flash above the door of the caravan where the public can read
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**** Madame Poll****
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