This morning I saw a picture of Trump sitting at the defendant’s table at his criminal trial in New York. I thought to myself, this bloated chump of ours is all veneer. I ask myself, how can someone so fat be so thin at the same time? Our forever-blond boy is the shimmer that obscures the rot; he is the gloss that masks the dearth of substance. He is MAGA: a Mirage Announcing Grand Artifice. He is a Kodak snapshot of America: a crinkled, faded, poorly focused dream of good; a razor-sharp image of goodness betrayed. Sometimes I catch myself wondering how you apply a veneer to thin air. That must be a pretty neat trick. I ask myself, what if veneer is all there is? Is he all veneer? Are we?