I'm having a cold. I went out for a Chinese meal tonight, took the spiciest dish I could think of hoping it would help clear my sinuses.

At the table next to me there's a man and woman, him with blow-dried hair and her with a blonde perm and made up to the nines, and their son who looks about thirteen. All three have that affluent look about them and the son's a handsome kid, the kind that all the popular girls in class will want to go out with.

I just sit there, having my meal and a couple of beers and generally minding my own business. After a while the conversation at the next table catches my attention. Apparently the guy's a lawyer, and he's telling his son about what he does in court.

"You get to wear a black... robe?"

The unfamiliar word is explained, and Mr. Blow-dried goes on to explain that you shouldn't become a lawyer for the money or the status, but only out of conviction.

After that the conversation moves to Pim Fortuyn.

"All those big name lawyers, like Oscar Hammerstein and Gerard Spong, they really loved him. You know why? Because he was so smart. He was always at least three steps ahead of everyone else."

Son sits and takes this in. Then he ventures: "If he had lived, he would have been president, wouldn't he?"

"Prime minister, dear", his mother says. "Not president."

Son sits and digests this for a while, after which he concludes: "It's a pity then that he's dead, isn't it?"

The conversation moves to the alledged killer. The father tells his son:

"You know... the killer? The guy who they think did it? They should tie him to the back of a car by his hands, and then the car should start to move, really slowly. You know what happens then? Your limbs get torn out of your body. Like the drawing and quartering they did in the middle ages."

Mom gets up to admire the porcelain on display in the cupboard behind their table. Father and son explore the idea some more, after which son concludes that really slowly is indeed the way to go.

After that they call for the bill, pay and leave.

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