The World as We Know It Read Online Free Page A

constantly glazed with tears of fear that would break the barrier of her eyelashes and come rolling down her soft cheeks if she didn’t blink frequently enough to absorb them. That was the worst part for me—seeing her in such a state of distress, knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop it, and watching her try to hide her fear to make things easier on me.
    After about two months, a lot of people just quit showing up for work. Those of us who still denied the inevitable, blindly carrying on like a depleting herd of confused sheep, should have been more careful about our use of the resources at our disposal. Stores and gas stations were shutting down, some for lack of business, some for lack of staff. I, at least, began walking to work to conserve gas. My office was less than two miles from our house, but the thought of getting there on my own feet had never before crossed my mind. When it snowed, I had to stuff my shiny leather shoes in a gym sack slung over the opposite shoulder from my messenger bag and walk to work in snow boots, which were not flattering to my suits. The winter days were growing shorter. I would leave before sunrise and return home after sunset. Fortunately, Maria worked out of our house, so I didn’t have to worry about herwalking the streets alone in the dark. Just a few months prior, she wouldn’t have thought twice about a midnight jog through our suburban neighborhood. Even the place where we lived no longer felt safe and predictable.
    Rather than put their minds to conservation, as the wise would have, most people began to consume energy and food in excess, afraid that those things would soon be scarce. Electricity. Batteries. Gas. Had I known where things were headed, I would have stocked up on ammunition for my gun like some of the others. We spent the little money that was left even more frivolously than we had when it was abundant. I could see the value of every currency in the world dropping day after day, and I decided it would be irresponsible not to put it to use before it was worthless. That was my justification for self-indulgence. After all, I had earned it. One night, I went to an underground wine auction to which I had been invited by one of my clients, and unbeknownst to my wife, I placed the ten thousand–dollar winning bid on a Bordeaux claret. I brought it home and slipped it into an inconspicuous slot on our wine rack under the bar, intending to save it for some special occasion in the future. Perhaps our anniversary. A big promotion, maybe, if the world economy’s free fall miraculously ended in a soft landing. If nothing else, at least we could celebrate the end with class.
    The next morning as I walked past the bar, I noticed what looked like a pool of blood creeping around from behind it. My first thought was one of death. It was not my wife, I knew. I had just left her in the bedroom. Perhapsit was the cat, though I couldn’t imagine so much blood coming from such a small creature. What could she have done to create such a mess? Had she exploded? I poked my head around the corner of the bar, where I found my bottle of Bordeaux still resting in the same spot on the rack but open and empty. The cork lay ten feet away. I pulled out the bottle and turned it up, pouring the remaining few drops into my mouth while standing barefoot in the ten thousand–dollar mess on the floor. I was later told that the wine had undergone an unintentional refermentation process that had caused a buildup of carbon dioxide, and pressure had compounded inside the bottle until, at one clandestinely climactic moment in the night, it had ejected the cork.
    My business declined like everyone else’s. Soon, the total value of the portfolios in my care was next to nothing. The angry phone calls from distraught clients ceased, and my office became a quiet, lonely place. I hadn’t heard a word from Arthur since his apologetic visit, and I had to let Debbi go. She was paid out of the profits