Time ticked on a grandfather clock. The ghost of J.R. Bob Dobbs walked through the abandoned slaughterhouse, and disappeared, leaving only Tinyman and Johnny Werd.

Werd gestured around him: "See, Tinyman, this place used to be filled with American workers butchering animals. Many of the workers worked here their entire lives. And now..." Werd gestured expansively, emptily, almost a shrug. "They're out of work, on the dole, starving. This whole town is dead, Tinyman. Because the company has changed its strategy and now genetically-modified hogs fed distilled hormones and chemical soup are slaughtered on a conveyorbelt in West Virginia. And even though this plant hasn't had a very good environmental record, run-off from the hog waste lagoon at the new site wiped out the entire town of Mudbucket. And these genetically-engineered hogs, Tinyman, well they're nothing to look at. And the meat is gristly."

Tinyman wrinkled his nose. The two passed through a vast swinging door out into the old hog yard, where rows of force-feeding cubicles stretched almost to the horizon. Tinyman peered inside one and there was a pig skeleton lying on the ground.

"See?" Werd said. "See what?" asked Tinyman, somewhat impatiently.

Werd realized more explanation was in order. "In Europe, see, they're opposed to those genetically-modified meats. They tried to block it, but the WTO considers that attitude - wanting to preserve the fine cuisine that is at the heart of their culture over there (except Britain) - a barrier to free trade. No matter how it gets resolved, a bunch of lawyers are going to make, shall we say, big bucks."

There was a period of silence and the gravel crunched under their heels as they walked an endless industry-ravaged landscape where aluminum hog hangars slowly turned to rust beneath the blazing desert sun. Werd stopped, stooped, and picked up from the dead earth an object. He held it out to Tinyman. It was a chiseled stone arrowhead. "Native American." Werd said. "200, maybe 300 years old..."

Tinyman looked at Werd.

"See?" Werd said.

"See what?" Tinyman asked helplessly but Werd only swallowed and shook his head slowly. And then Werd stooped and put the arrowhead back where he found it.

"So..." Werd began, "I guess I'm just wondering how to spin all of this when you give the speech at the townsquare this afternoon. How are your economic policies going to differ from those of the incumbent?"

"How?" Tinyman wondered.

"Well, that's a tricky issue. Almost like splitting hairs because, you see, your policies won't actually matter since you'll have to defer to the pressures of international commerce for which pressures your aspiration is to, ultimately, be a humble apologist with an optimistic rhetoric."

"Ah." Tinyman said.

"So let's, ah, go get some breakfast. I saw a Bob Ebeneezer's Smoked Sausage Shack up the road apiece. Let's go... boost the local economy."

"Okay," said Tinyman, "but actually Bob Ebeneezer's is a chain owned by, essentially, the same parent company that owns CCN, WTV, and Americash. I think they've relocated their headquarters to Shanghai.

But we can still boost the international economy."