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    Orthodox Christians and Israelis. Israel and Silicon Valley rapidly lost their positions on the high-tech market, surrendering leadership to Collective Mind.
    The opposition to Collective Mind was gradually disappearing. The opponents of
    downloading and pooling creativity did not have serious arguments in any case.
    It took a long time for the official Church to come up with a specific position; by and large it remained neutral. It was difficult to go against the fact that the world was being purged of a great number of sins.
    “You know what?” Bikie said eventually. “Why don’t I phone this Charles anyway? The
    guy with the Harley. Maybe he’ll be OK. We won’t lose anything, and I promise to be very careful. And if it’s a flop – we’ll go to Wolanski.”
    For the sake of an amicable, collaborative relationship Isaac did not argue.
    Bikie dialed the number and introduced himself. He said he was from a local club and
    would like to meet Charles to talk about the rare Harley model that Charles owned and take a few photos for the club’s site. Everything went smoothly and they agreed on seven o’clock that evening. Bikie made thorough preparations. He found a pair of old, tattered jeans, a black t-shirt with the sleeves crudely torn off and a biker jacket. He put on a bandana with a red Harley Davidson logo and a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. He looked really menacing and Isaac liked it.
    For this special occasion Bikie washed his bike and pulled out a pretty good Leica camera from somewhere.
    “You know what I think, why don’t you skip the meeting and go straight to Hollywood?
    They’ll put you in the movies without any screen-tests. Did you know that Harrison Ford worked as a carpenter up until he was spotted by George Lucas? When you end up meeting Lucas or Tarantino, at least text me to say that Bikie won’t be back.”
    Bikie smiled his huge, broad smile and winked. He was happy with the way he looked
    too. He had taken his time, dressing, with loving care. He didn’t get to go into town dolled up like this very often.
    “Admit it, Bikie, you chose this candidate especially so you could have a costume party.”
    “You're the Carnival! The time will come when I’ll always be dressed like this. On a
    Harley, with a busty blonde on back. You’ll see.”
    “Land this guy for us first. And then I promise you two busty blondes.”
    “Everything will be okay. Don’t shit yourself!”
    Hours later Bikie returned to the apartment quite despondent.
    “First of all, that asshole was almost an hour late,” he told Isaac disappointedly. “Then he spent a solid hour telling me how fucking cool he was. He didn’t let me get a word in,
    peacocking his plumage like he was trying to impress some bimbo. I soon realized he was a trashy banker after all; the speedometer on his super-rare Harley didn’t even have a thousand
    kilometers on it. A beautiful thing but just gathering dust. Although better to gather dust than carry a dumb fuck like that. I tried about ten times to start a conversation about OE and Einsteiner, but the dick kept harping on about how bored he is and what he does to avoid getting rusty: Saint Barth, the Maldives, Bora-Bora, that sort of crap. He told me about all his chicks and how crazy they all about him. Maybe there’s some kind of error in your data base? Or is all his creativity wasted on his stupid stories? I’ve never seen such a clown before.”
    “Don’t let it bother you, Bikie, you looked like a million dollars, so he spread his
    plumage to impress you.”
    Bikie brightened up a bit.
    “No shit, Isaac, you’re one of the few normal guys I’ve met just recently. They’ve all
    gone cuckoo. Rushing about, no clue what they want in life. No goals, no ideals. Cardboard people. Let’s do some booze today, what you say? Got any more whisky?”
    “No whisky, but there’s some awesome Seychelles rum.”
    “Never heard of that kind, but rum’s even better.”