“I think this woman is good for the local political scene,” said Brigid, gesturing at the television ad. “I mean, even when I don’t agree with her, I can at least see how she came to her conclusions. She really cares about helping her constituents.”

“That’s ridiculous!” said Isadora. “She can care until the cows come home, it doesn’t do any good if she keeps trying to float these pie-in-the-sky projects that eat up taxpayer money and then fold under their own weight before they finish. You can’t make the world a better place just by wishing it so.”

“At least she tries,” said Brigid. “The rest of them just put their hats out to the developers, constituents be damned.”

“But that’s just the problem, all she does is try. She never actually succeeds.” Rotating on her barstool at the pass-through counter, Isadora turned to Greg, who was dutifully making sandwiches. “What do you think, Greg?”

“I have no thoughts,” said Greg. “Nor opinions. My mind is like a wide expanse of desert, with only the occasional tumbleweed blowing by.”

“Ha!” said Isadora. “Well what use are you, then?”

“I am of no use to anyone,” said Greg. “I have never claimed otherwise. The best that can be said about me is that I provide CO₂ for the trees to breathe.”

Isadora blinked, then turned to Brigid. “What’s with him?”

“There was a giant flamewar on his blog,” Brigid said. “It’s got him all upset.”

“Hmph,” said Isadora. “The hazards of 21st century living.”

-The Gneech

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