“What ‘issue?’ You are the issue, Sam!”

The old man rose to his feet, mustering what strength he could to rebuke the intruder. With faltering confidence, his whimpers became shouts. “You and your thugs come here every year and rob me of half the money I’ve earned. And for what? For one disappointment after another! Why do you pretend to offer anything I could want, and at such a cost?”

Sam puzzled at the suggestion, unsure how to proceed. “Explain.”

“For one, your health care is substandard. I can get much better service in the clinic across the river, on my own dime.”

“But that clinic is expensive, friend,” responded Sam. “I offer you my care for free.”

The man motioned toward the club in Sam’s hand. “You call that free? Nothing is free. Your ‘services’ are funded with blood money. My grandchildren attend better schools than your muddled apathy camps, your rescue crews are slow and patronizing, yet you wear golden cufflinks. Let me keep what is mine, Sam—you have proven an unwise steward of it.”