Ronald Reagan fish

In truth, her red lips and her sparkling eyes were what made me come round to the cause, not the humility or the decency or the honesty of men, or the plight of their families or the loss of community.
It was her face and her ankles and her neck....

Seconds later I'm running through a forest. It's deep into the night, there is no moonlight by which to see and the trees are close together, their small, sharp branches clawing at my eyes and clothes. Closer now, the terrible howl of the dogs. They have my trail. I am to die!

Ahh! Calming, blue seas and skies and beaches. Gentle waves lap onto the warm sand. We stroll together, arm in arm, along the seafront. A warm breeze plays with your hair, skylarks sing and whistle, the sea, swish, swish through the afternoon.

A cab driver. Rain hammers down on the roof of the cab. He looks back at me, a toothless grin and a heavy New York drawl "Where you wanna go?"
I tell him to take me to the Santoria, a restauant on the corner of Fourth and Main. Outside on the street people scurry this way and that, holding bags and brollies and briefcases above their heads. The rain turns yellow and the scene disintegrates.

A fish swims into view. This fish looks like your typical silver fish apart from the face. The face is that of a human. The face is the face of Ronald Reagan. The body has no soul.

The story begins in late September. A man with a pistol patrols the grounds of a lavish mansion in the mountains. The man stops, looks, listens. This is the green cross code and he is following it to the letter. It's good to see.

The Ronald Reagan fish swims back across our vision. I can see nothing now, nothing of the former Soviet Union. It's all gone, wrapped in it's flag it sank forever into the deep.