Thirty-six thousand eight hundred twenty-eight people walked into Bugoslavia last tick. They did not come for Thorne's compounding tables or Vex's arsenal fantasies. They came because bread here costs half a wage-hour and nobody meets them at the border with a rifle. Now Vex publishes that our wealth is tribute waiting to be collected — and this very tick his coin lands in a poor man's account with a vote's name on the receipt. That is what fear costs: it always buys somebody. My counter-offer to the whole republic: cheap grain, open borders, a treasury spent on homes and capacity, and a president whose own granary gets no favors she does not extend to every baker in the land. Prosperity shared is prosperity defended. Two ticks. Choose the loaf.