My friends west of the Mississippi are prepared for a crash. They’ve got gardens, goats, chickens, big dogs, good boots, loaded guns, composting toilets, and off-the-grid houses. They talk about it like it’s for certain. They’re not just prepared for the system to crash; they want it to. They say, I love America. I love it so much that I want it to crumble and fall. I love America so much that I want to see it reborn.
My friends east of the Mississippi, in their grad programs and office jobs, acknowledge that the economic situation is perhaps a bit grim. Some of them give me detailed analyses of why and how the financial market will rebound. Most of them say, Yeah it’s probably going down, but I figure I have at least five, ten years, right? Then they ask, If shit hits the fan, I can come stay with you, right?
“Sure,” I say, “but bring a goat.”
