In addition to the oppressive humidity, galloping fascism, swarming insects and toothy reptiles, one of the notable quirks of living in Florida is that it’s easy to lose track of what time of year it is. Our seasonal markers tend to be subtle unless they are detaching the roof from your house.
So when I read that Judge Aileen Cannon had set Trump’s trial date for August, it didn’t immediately occur to me that was two months away. Then when it did occur to me, I thought, well, she must mean August 2024. But nope, she means two months away:
I know there’s zero chance it will happen that quickly, but it’s almost like Cannon wants to get this shit over with for some reason.
PS: Coincidentally, today I received notice from the Middle District of Florida that my name was randomly drawn “for potential service on a federal jury.” Different district, but hmmmm!