The next week, Trump called again to submit more instructions about the design of the border wall (which had long since been designed). In a rambling conversation, he told us to paint the wall “matte black”—he didn’t want it shiny—and complained that the contractors building it were “filthy fucking rich, having lunch with each other every week and deciding how they are going to divvy it all up.” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. We muted him for most of the rant. Painting and repainting the border wall was the conversational equivalent of Trump’s pre-naptime coloring book. We would let
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