“There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old’s life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.”—Paul Krugman, Nobel Prize-winning economist
The beaver is hunted for its testicles, which are valued for making medicine. When the beaver sees that it cannot escape from the hunter, it bites off its testicles and throws them to the hunter, who then stops pursuing the beaver. If another hunter chases the beaver, it shows the hunter that it has already lost its testicles and so is spared.
In the medieval world, the beaver was seen as an allegory for man’s relationship with the devil. If a man wishes to live chastely he must cut off all his vices and throw them from him into the face of the devil. The devil, seeing that the man has nothing belonging to him, will leave the man alone.
So I come back to this beautiful town three days ago, and every night there have been reports of roving packs of teenagers from the North End swarming innocent citizens.
Last night I went for a stroll through the Commons, and this morning I wake up and the front page of the Herald is a story about a group of teens who beat someone up in the Commons twenty minutes after I got home.
Halifax, this is unacceptable.
On the plus side, I feel like the goddamn Batman when I go out at night because I’ve been making it a point to dress in black and keep an eye out for hoodlums, scofflaws and ne’er-do-wells.