Tom suddenly became aware that he was standing in Battery Park. The sun was low in the sky as he looked out across the water, his gaze directed toward Liberty Island, falling on the turquoise lady holding her flame, which she had been doing there for the past 125 years, a hollow object symbolizing empty promises. There was a massive line of people waiting for the ferry so that they could get a view of freedom up close, and on the return trip they completed their visit with an exit through the gift shop. A consumer’s purgatory, in which everything was made, sold, and bought by interchangeable organisms of the same mind, a perfect survival mechanism for the objects, but not the animal. This infallible feedback loop was orchestrated down to fractions of seconds of tangible human lives by the great intellect of the entrepreneurial class, stripping work of all craft and meaning.