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the physics of sorrow
reintroduced the people’s
mi l i tia, par ty meetings,
demonstrations. I invited
those who had been secret
service informers to get back
to work. I also pay a few
folks who used to grumble
against the government to
keep doing it. Those sorts of
things create atmosphere.
In short, you don’t do a damn
thing, you loaf around all day
and take home a paycheck
in the end. Just like back
then. But I’m merciless if
someone breaks the rules,
my gendarmes are like the
ones back in the day. You
got a f irst-hand taste of
that, incidentally. People
are happy. Do you have any
idea how bad unemployment
in the neighboring towns
is? Rich clients come here
and order themselves a
demonstration or a party
meeting. Everyone wants to
go back in time. I’ve built the
ultimate time machine. I even
have visitors from abroad.
Come on now, cheers, and
welcome back!”
“Cheers. So what about the
whiskey?”
“From Corecom, the hard-
currency store. Like I said,
we’ve thought of everything.”
“And why are you doing it? If
it ’s for the money, there are
more conventional ways of
making a buck.”
“I’ve got money, although I
never turn it down. That ’s
not the reason, though ...Let
me be frank with you,” he
refilled our glasses, “I don’t
feel like living in modern
times. Nothing but shit...”
“There was plenty of shit
back then, too.”
“Maybe, but to me it smelled
good. The world is already