There was a very big wind that summer day, the day the bankers had the picnic they had wanted to enjoy for so many years.
The wind blew around their pens and quills and dollar bills and ledgers and other things from their banking world. The bankers drew big plates with their pens and settled down to a nice meal of paper – reams and reams of it – searching about for something more delicious, as condors do when they are looking to swallow a big, fat rabbit.
And what was the reason for the picnic? They wanted to find Truth. That’s all they wanted to do.