The shot that created a martyr

In roisterous social discourse, I’ve repeatedly expressed my amazement that no one has ever taken a shot at Trump. I’ve even tossed off callously, “Where’s American gun nuttery when you need it?”  (Sorry.)  But until Saturday evening, the former president having neglected to provide target practice for his rabid detractors is doubtless more due to the diligence of his security detail than to the restraint of his foes. As for his perhaps unjustly maligned security service in Butler, Pennsylvania, you know what they say: nobody’s perfect.

I’ve written two novels that employ a parallel-universe structure, so my mind compulsively reels with alternative worlds. Now that Trump’s right ear has been bloodied like Vincent van Gogh’s, we are literally one inch from a very different present — in which the