“Excuse me? Excuse me, I’m looking for an expert?”
He looked like nothing you’d stop to look twice at, and most people didn’t even bother with looking once. He was weedy, small, underfed. Fifteen years after the collapse of most of the world, he looked like - well, like it was a miracle he was still alive.
Nobody worried about him.
“What sort of expert, son? We’ve got all sorts here.” The aging professor had not been quite so aging when the school had stopped being quite the same institution he’d been hired by. Tenure was, however, tenure, and there weren’t that many universities hiring Labor Economics professors in this day and age.
Not when they were more worried with the simple economics of laboring enough to survive.
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