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59 The Last Nazi I don’t know exactly when the last Nazi will die. There are too many variables involved to arrive at a precise date. If, for example, the final ones band together to care for each other, they may go on for a decade or two more eating swastika soup. Or if their grandchildren teach them yoga or feed them some miracle grain or they take up jogging in the public parks of Munich or Berlin and the muscles of their hearts grow stronger, they may make their way deeper into this century. Chances are the last one will grow senile and little by little forget the horrors of so long ago. The photographs of those soldiers goose stepping down the boulevards will seem to him now like some grand carnival had come to town. And the man with the strange mustache and lollygag eyes will seem like some master clown who once mounted a unicycle, circled the big top three times and then, wobbling on his only wheel, reached out and handed him a black balloon. ...

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