Pink.
An ovular rose.
Big and smooth.
A complex commonplace instrument. And, as far as these things go, a rather nice one. Isolated from the head and all that roils therein, and to which it is, famously and miraculously, still attached, you have to admit, if you can: It is beautiful. In Palm Beach, sunlight streamed through the window to find its blood vessels, setting the whole device aglow. Auris Divina, Divine Ear, protector of The Donald, immaculate cartilage shield, almighty piece of flesh.
Donald Trump raised his right hand and grabbed hold of it. He bent it backward and forward. I asked if I could take a closer look. These days, the former president and current triple threat-convicted felon, Republican presidential nominee, and recent survivor of an assassination attempt-comes from a place of yes. He waved me over to where he sat on this August afternoon, in a low-to-the-ground chair upholstered in cream brocade fabric in the grand living room at Mar-a-Lago.
Let's see, he said. He tapped the highest point of the helix. It's a railroad track. He tapped it again. They didn't need a stitch, he said. You know, it's funny. Usually, something like that would be considered a surreal experience, where you sort of don't realize it, and yet there was no surrealism in this case. I felt immediately that I got hit by a bullet. I also knew it was my ear. It's just a little bit over here- He used his hand to wiggle the ear. Right next to― He gestured at the side of his head, at his brain, and raised his eyebrows. It's amazing. He shook his head in disbelief. And the ear, as you know, is a big bleeder.
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