I sat at our dining room table, hunched over my work laptop, staring into a spreadsheet that seemed to go on forever. Scrolling through its cells felt almost hypnotic, as if I were being seduced by its lists and lists of names, hundreds of them, blomers who had joined the Percussive Insurance family over the last three months. I thought: Who names a blomer? Have they explained that to us yet? Probably it was some government official (most likely a blomer him- or herself, now) sitting behind a desk set up in a gymnasium somewhere, assigning monikers to scores of eagles, dogs, sparrows, cats and cows who came huddled, hungry and desperate, each looking for his or her own small slice in the new order that pullulation had spawned. We vips had created this accident, had caused it to happen t
