




On Tuesday he flies to the Texas coast to watch the largest object ever lifted off the ground leave it, and posts good luck to the man he has just put in charge of cutting the government. On Thursday the bracket loses a name: eight days after the nomination, the young congressman withdraws rather than be a distraction, and by half past six that evening a former Florida prosecutor has the job instead. The court refills itself in an afternoon. Then, on Monday, the thing that four years of the saga has been pointed at simply stops happening. The special counsel moves to drop both federal cases — not because a jury cleared him but because the calendar did; the office has a rule about sitting presidents and the election made the rule apply. He answers at three in the afternoon with the oldest complaint he owns: empty, lawless, a hundred million dollars of other people's money. Three hours later he writes the first executive order of a term that has not begun — twenty-five percent on everything crossing from either neighbour — and the trucks are still fifty-six days from finding out.
Readers' Corner
Letters from the readership on Week 493. Pick a pen name — no account needed.
Opening the mailbag…