Manchester, New Hampshire, January 2016, the primaries, and I was walking past the Radisson to the hole-in-the-wall coffee joint with only one person in the queue (it was Bill Kristol; for years I’d dreamt of taunting him about imposing Sarah Palin on the Republicans. What I did was pass him the Splenda, and say "here for the Bernie rally, Bill?" and we laughed like old mates).
Passed a tall, big-jawed mookish guy, stars 'n' stripes tie, Trump button, on a phone in a doorway, smoking a cigar at 8.30 in the morning. Two greasers drove by slow.