The Economist: A Story About Our Backwards Little World
This should be interesting.
I flip out my cellphone, pausing with my finger hovering above the speed-dial. To speak or not to speak?
You see, I’m not really here. Well, I am. I am in the same way everyone else is. We’re all sitting here, and they all know I’m fake and I know they’re all fake. Be they bankers or robbers, it’s all the same.
You start to develop a little perspective in a job like mine. You start to realize that everything has that little bit of meaning behind it. A copy of *The Economist* isn’t just a copy of *The Economist*. It says something else. It’s a symbol. It’s my job to read those symbols.
I’m a quick learner, by the way. Always have been. Combine observing with patterning and analogizing and you get me. And I can be a fair amount of trouble if we want.
So what’s the situation here, then? I look around—I’m already gathering information. I already know.