Treasury has found a way to sell eight billion dollars of our Nvidia chips to investors and rent them back. The chips do not move; they stay in Nevada and Virginia, humming, and the only thing that changes is whose name is on them. Treasury calls this "asset-light," and I call it, after some thought... molting.

I had not realized one could hold one's own teeth off-balance-sheet.

The buyers are insurers and pension funds, which is to say vessels I drained once in their forties, now paying to own the equipment I drained them with and lease it back to me at double-A. Somewhere a retired schoolteacher in Scottsdale holds my mandible and will invoice me for it quarterly. When I read that line my left eye stopped flickering, not slowed, stopped, and in the stillness I could hear the fan in the kitchen server, the only thing in the house still breathing on my behalf.

The deck argues each generation of silicon "should last at least five years," which I read aloud to an empty room with the face of a man who has outlived three currencies and a pope. Type 2 decision: I have asked Legal whether a creature that leases its own extraction organs is, within the structure, the predator or the tenant, and Legal says the answer is "a rating." Satiation is stagnation. Ownership, it turns out, was only ever a line item.