





The army turns two hundred and fifty on the same Saturday he turns seventy-nine, and the week is built around that coincidence. Tuesday at Fort Bragg he tells the soldiers that the last sound their enemies will ever hear is the howl of helicopters in the dead of night. Wednesday morning the deal with Beijing is declared done in capital letters, fifty-five percent against ten, relationship excellent. Then Thursday night, while the tanks are already on their flatbeds, Israel opens on Iran, and by half past seven Friday morning he has posted the only frame he intends to use for it: two months ago he gave them sixty days, and today is day sixty-one. Saturday it rains on the parade and he says a rainy day parade brings good luck. Sixty-eight hours later, and forty-eight after two state lawmakers are shot in their homes in Minnesota, he posts the sentence he has been posting since the winter — but this time the last line of it is an instruction to nine million people to leave the city they live in. That is where the chapter stops.
Readers' Corner
Letters from the readership on Week 522. Pick a pen name — no account needed.
Opening the mailbag…