He sat, brooding. Brows forming a V as they strode down the highway, he reflected on his own irony. Value did not exist except that which was perceived. In aims to make money, people would forget the origin and reason for money: people. And him most of all.
What could he complain about celebrities like Michael Jackson or Britney Spears? Ultimately, too, they became a pawn of the public just as before they had been gods.
The car sped on, and he reflected on Rand's excellect pacing and how he could replicate it, as he drifted off to sleep in the warm afternoon breeze of the car.
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