Putin whispers in Trump’s ear and excuses himself from social hour to go to the restroom. Trump counts to 69 before excusing himself. Putin is, as expected, facing the wall at the short urinal on the far wall of the restroom. Trump, defying all international norms, un-velcros his pants in the immediately adjacent urinal.

Words are exchanged in hushed tones, and before Trump can leave, Putin points to his flaccid penis. Trump, by now, knows the drill. He shakes Putin’s penis into the urinal, after which Putin zips his pants and the two emerge together.

Trump, having forgotten to velcro his pant fly, snagged his red tie on it, and struggled with the task of freeing it without arousing attention. Putin, noticing, audibly separates Trump’s tie from the velcro, causing all of the conversations among the remaining eighteen heads of state to come to a grinding halt. As the red tie cleared the velcro and eyes diverted to the source of the noise, Trump felt a cool breeze betwixt his pubes.

From it emerged a sight familiar to child and prostitute alike. The pianist, who up until now had been perfecting his repertoire of elevator music hits, felt a duty to break the awkward silence. Shinzo Abe beat him to it, sobbing, undoubtedly scarred by seeing one of his country’s most precious national treasures trapped in a forest of bleached public hairs.

Slowly, the pianist, still shaken, began playing a tune familiar to those who have left the Mario Kart 8 menu on in between bong hits. As if on cue, the diminutive red and white toadstool hopped out, momentarily snagging its little vest on a velcro hook. He hopped along the heads of the most powerful people in the world, before landing on the pianist’s grand piano. The toadstool removed a checkbook from his vest, and after priming his ball point pen on a napkin, wrote a check and left it in the pianist’s tip jar. The music continued, until a loud grumbling noise grew louder outside. Toad knew it was time. He hopped outside and onto his already running sportsbike. A man wearing a red cap looked back nodded at him. Their eyes met and they knew what they had to do.

“Let’sa go.” The two were joined by about ten other similar persons as they revved their motors in unison.

Beep..beep..beeeeeep.

Wheels squeeled. Exhaust filled the air, followed by dust. The pianist’s pupils shrank like collapsing stars, and his hazel irises radiated out like the first trillionth of a second of a supernova. As the tinnitus faded, a deathly silence permeated the room. It seemed like an eternity before the master of ceremonies stuttered that dinner was ready in the banquet hall. As the last envoys left the room, the pianist removed the check from the jar and unfolded it. On it was written sum of three dollars and fifty cents, and the memo line read:

“just a tip.”