Small boys are young.

Our very own Trump. Long before “stand back and stand by” another unhinged narcissist with his hand on the trigger. Literally.

“Let the blood flow” was the drug-addled roar of my childhood villa kakalika.

And now …

A state-funded funeral, the dignified exit that he never accorded others – his seniors and betters. They were entitled, by order, to being trussed up like turkeys, summarily executed for public entertainment, dumped in unmarked graves, and left to rot there.

I remember my mother howling at night when ‘news’ of the discovery of the burnt bodies of the judges finally came to gory light.

I remember running. The indignity of exile. At least we were alive.

Let the eulogies of those who benefited from the upending this country, twice, the casual abbreviation of life, the vicious devastation of lives, let the after the bloody fact apologists and half-blind, continue.

Let no one today, say to the grieving family may he “Rust in Pieces”.  At all.

It is particularly ironic that the end, came in the comfort of a bed, in Korlebu. Nurses and doctors, paid, on duty, equipment ready to save even his life.