Somewhere in the plaza of Aguadulce, a goose is trying to auction herself off with economics vocabulary she only half understands. Her farmer is racing down the mountain with a wooden chest he's kept locked for years — and its contents are about to shut a certain gold-toothed merchant up for good.
Part 2 of 2 in The Goose and the Gold Standard
El nido amaneció vacío. En la tierra del patio, escrito con torpes trazos de pico, Jairo encontró un mensaje de tres palabras: «Me voy a diversificar». «¡Cielo!» —gritó, y su voz rodó montaña abajo.
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