"They're selling postcards of the hanging" Bob Dylan
Frolicking in the Hague festooned as if some monarch's golden jubilee not a room left empty in all the land queues for miles to get a ringside seat at what is billed as The Trial of Man as W, ****, and Rummy sit chained to the bionic calves of barstools while Condo Lisa bears witness atop a piano ferreted throughout the conurbation breadlines and circuitous routes recalling the Nicaraguan case low on the radar of short-term the disunited states of disarray vetoes its own trial's outcome and it is business as usual