The electricians arrive with copper pipes and rolls of heavy gauge wire. They’re here to ground me. No more indecencies of spark and crackle of short circuits. No more unexpected shocks in the bathtub. No more self-ignited brush fires. They wrap me in woven metal strapping, then solder the wire and run it to the copper pipe, which they’ve driven ten feet into earth. Now I’m leashed to the world. Whatever energy the universe offers will filter safely through me. The electricians intend to bill my insurance company for their work, but even if they never get paid they’ve earned great satisfaction for this public service. Without doubt, my ungrounded condition had menaced the American middle class. Women shrieking in public places. Children bullying each other in playgrounds. Business people cheating at business. All that excess voltage now pours through me to extinguish in the bosom of the planet. Yes, it’s inconvenient to be tied to a pivot point, but I’m pleased to contribute to the common good. And besides, the occasional lightning stroke focuses me on our afterlife of cinders and ash, a reckoning to make us proud.