




Tuesday evening, seven days into the candidacy, the table is set on the back patio — and the guest list makes history of its own: the troubled musician he knows, and a young stranger he will say he never knew. Past one in the morning the highest court refuses him and the tax returns are ordered handed over. By the weekend the dinner is a national storm; his defense arrives at full volume, and Sunday the fury turns on the press itself. The party says nothing aloud. Its eyes are drifting south.
Readers' Corner
Letters from the readership on Week 389. Pick a pen name — no account needed.
Opening the mailbag…