Harold’s garage was open. Clint wandered over. When he saw that Harold was watching a portable television, he turned around to go home. But Harold caught him first and called him inside.
“I can offer you a light beer,” Harold said. “That’s all I have.”
“Sounds good right now, actually.”
Harold went in to fetch the beers, leaving the Remington 25-06 he was cleaning on his workbench. That was the same rifle Clint and Jake usually hunted deer with down on the paid canyon ranch. The thought crossed Clint’s mind that Harold must trust him like a brother to leave him alone with it. But he did note the gun cabinet was locked.
When Harold came back, Clint noticed the small TV set was tuned to a business news station.
“What, do you enjoy watching your wealth diminish?” Clint asked.
Harold laughed. “I’m not in the market. But you’re right. My wealth is diminishing nonetheless.”
“How’s that? Is the price of ammunition falling?”
“No. Quite the opposite, in fact. Now that you mention it, maybe I’m all right after all. I was referring to the dollar.”
“They say the inflation is artificial,” Clint said taking a sip. Man, this light beer really was awful stuff.
“Did say that. Now they admit it’s real. No one apparently realized it until today, but the eastern countries have been dumping their western-world bonds. We thought the inflation numbers were because of food prices and flu panic, but now the economists have discovered the dollar and euro have in fact tanked at a fundamental level. It’s seriously alarming.”
“Why does it matter?” Clint asked. “My mortgage contract says the lender has to accept fixed payments in U.S. dollars, whatever those dollars may be worth. That alone should serve to keep the dollar valuable.”
“Your mortgage is fixed to the USD, yes. But new mortgages going forward might not be, assuming lending resumes after the pandemic ends. The problem is the eastern world no longer thinks our money is worth the paper it’s printed on, and they produce most of the planet’s trade goods. Everyone knows all modern currency is faith-based, with nothing valuable to back it. When faith in a currency dies, so will the currency. The U.S. Dollar might go the way of the Confederate Dollar.”
“What would they replace it with?”
“Hopefully something with intrinsic value.”
“Well,” Clint mused, “if the dollar completely fails, and I can sell, say, all my tools for a couple hundred grand in USD, I’ll use it to pay off my house.”
“I wouldn’t count on being able to do that. Especially if you get behind in your house payments, which will give your lender the right to renegotiate your terms however they see fit.”
The next day, Clint took Jenny downtown to the food lines. They had to park a long ways away. And they discovered it wasn’t such a great idea to go in the middle of the day. The lines were long by then, and some of the items ran out. So they made do with a loaf of bread, a can of beans, and a small bag of apples that were too soft. While driving home, Clint was dismayed at how many storefronts had closed their doors. This was a difficult time to be an American.
Finding sources of hope became more difficult as the days of late April yielded to the days of early May. Clint tried not to let it all bother him. He and Jenny got themselves to the food lines earlier and earlier in the morning in an effort to beat the crowds. Unfortunately, everybody else seemed to adopt the same plan. And the selection was getting worse. By the end of the second week of this, all anyone was getting was bread. The government was somehow able to keep an army of bakers working somewhere. It was white bread, and not that good. Clint decided he didn’t want to deal with it anymore, so Jenny started going by herself, “just in case” a shipment of some other kind of food came in.
It never did. Part of the problem—as the new acting President angrily
“I can offer you a light beer,” Harold said. “That’s all I have.”
“Sounds good right now, actually.”
Harold went in to fetch the beers, leaving the Remington 25-06 he was cleaning on his workbench. That was the same rifle Clint and Jake usually hunted deer with down on the paid canyon ranch. The thought crossed Clint’s mind that Harold must trust him like a brother to leave him alone with it. But he did note the gun cabinet was locked.
When Harold came back, Clint noticed the small TV set was tuned to a business news station.
“What, do you enjoy watching your wealth diminish?” Clint asked.
Harold laughed. “I’m not in the market. But you’re right. My wealth is diminishing nonetheless.”
“How’s that? Is the price of ammunition falling?”
“No. Quite the opposite, in fact. Now that you mention it, maybe I’m all right after all. I was referring to the dollar.”
“They say the inflation is artificial,” Clint said taking a sip. Man, this light beer really was awful stuff.
“Did say that. Now they admit it’s real. No one apparently realized it until today, but the eastern countries have been dumping their western-world bonds. We thought the inflation numbers were because of food prices and flu panic, but now the economists have discovered the dollar and euro have in fact tanked at a fundamental level. It’s seriously alarming.”
“Why does it matter?” Clint asked. “My mortgage contract says the lender has to accept fixed payments in U.S. dollars, whatever those dollars may be worth. That alone should serve to keep the dollar valuable.”
“Your mortgage is fixed to the USD, yes. But new mortgages going forward might not be, assuming lending resumes after the pandemic ends. The problem is the eastern world no longer thinks our money is worth the paper it’s printed on, and they produce most of the planet’s trade goods. Everyone knows all modern currency is faith-based, with nothing valuable to back it. When faith in a currency dies, so will the currency. The U.S. Dollar might go the way of the Confederate Dollar.”
“What would they replace it with?”
“Hopefully something with intrinsic value.”
“Well,” Clint mused, “if the dollar completely fails, and I can sell, say, all my tools for a couple hundred grand in USD, I’ll use it to pay off my house.”
“I wouldn’t count on being able to do that. Especially if you get behind in your house payments, which will give your lender the right to renegotiate your terms however they see fit.”
The next day, Clint took Jenny downtown to the food lines. They had to park a long ways away. And they discovered it wasn’t such a great idea to go in the middle of the day. The lines were long by then, and some of the items ran out. So they made do with a loaf of bread, a can of beans, and a small bag of apples that were too soft. While driving home, Clint was dismayed at how many storefronts had closed their doors. This was a difficult time to be an American.
Finding sources of hope became more difficult as the days of late April yielded to the days of early May. Clint tried not to let it all bother him. He and Jenny got themselves to the food lines earlier and earlier in the morning in an effort to beat the crowds. Unfortunately, everybody else seemed to adopt the same plan. And the selection was getting worse. By the end of the second week of this, all anyone was getting was bread. The government was somehow able to keep an army of bakers working somewhere. It was white bread, and not that good. Clint decided he didn’t want to deal with it anymore, so Jenny started going by herself, “just in case” a shipment of some other kind of food came in.
It never did. Part of the problem—as the new acting President angrily
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