@SunGarrioch And when your hands are tied you make the best deal possible. Not a bad return all things including no move clause considered. And before the draft to turn the picks into possibly something else or you make the picks and hopefully develop assets you can use or trade
@Brad_Setser@BaldingsWorld I find your work substantive and your public communication to be commended and if a possible policy choice is DOA or a complete non-starter then no matter how much work has been done it, which is valuable, it still doesn’t matter if it is only theoretical
The Hoover Dam was completed in 1936.
Its concrete is still curing.
Concrete doesn't "dry." It undergoes a chemical reaction called hydration — calcium silicate crystals grow and interlock over decades.
In thin pours, hydration completes in weeks.
In mass concrete — pours measured in thousands of cubic yards — the reaction continues for centuries.
The Hoover Dam contains 3.3 million cubic yards of concrete.
The deepest internal sections have never fully hydrated.
Engineers knew this when they built it.
They designed around it — using cooling pipes, joint systems, and a pour sequence that let each section partially cure before the next was added.
The dam gets marginally stronger every year.
It will reach peak strength sometime around the year 2500.
Something built by humans in 1936 will still be actively becoming what it was designed to be in 2500.
That's what engineering for permanence looks like.
In America, a warehouse store. A fully roasted chicken costs five dollars, the raw chicken beside it costs seven, and I stood between them like a man between two truths.
Golden. Hot. Seasoned. Spinning in glory under the lights, in a line of its brothers. Four dollars and ninety-nine cents.
I checked the raw birds. Seven dollars. Pale. Cold. You must do everything yourself.
This is not commerce. Commerce does not move backward. Somewhere in this building, mathematics lies defeated.
I asked the man at the counter. "How is the cooked bird cheaper than the raw bird?"
"Been five bucks forever. They keep it that way."
"But the store loses."
"Yep. On purpose."
On purpose. I held my receipt with both hands.
In my land, a lord who lowered the price of rice in a hard winter was remembered for generations. They built him a small shrine. This store does it every day, with chicken, and tells no one.
A woman behind me grew tired of my reverence. "It's just a chicken, sir."
It is not just a chicken. It is a wound the merchant takes on purpose, so that anyone, on any day, with five dollars, eats like a lord. The bird is the message. The price is the vow.
I will confess: I bought two. I did not need two. The second was not hunger. It was gratitude, and it was delicious.
Some prices are not prices. They are promises.
I return every week now. I take one bird. I bow toward the deli, briefly, so as not to alarm the staff. They have begun nodding back.
The vow holds. The bird turns. Five dollars.
Long may it spin.