I pull into the garage every night, and that expensive electric car hums quiet, like a satisfied cat. Got it for the optics, of course, the big shiny green halo for the quarterly report. Funny how that same report is where I argue, with a straight face, that all the real green stuff—the regulations, the paperwork—is just… dead weight, a drag on the bottom line. Sometimes, I swear, I can almost hear my dad laughing from his grave, telling me to get my priorities straight, reminding me what it was like to worry about a broken washing machine. It’s a good joke, I guess, on all of us.