The bullet is said to have missed his head by “less than a quarter of an inch.” That is the whole of it, really — history, for a moment, decided by margin rather than by meaning.
On July 13, 2024, in Butler, Pennsylvania: a rally, a rifle, eight shots. Trump came up off the stage with blood on his ear, fist in the air, shouting, “Fight, fight, fight.” The photograph — flag flying behind him, crowd frozen mid-scream — held the one second death didn’t win, long enough to mean something before anyone decided what.
‘We have thrived and flourished because our founders were great, our cause was just, our people are brave, our culture is exceptional, and our destiny is written by God.’
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Trump ducked first, then
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