“The laws of conscience, which we pretend to be derived from nature, proceed from custom.” —Montaigne IT’S SEPTEMBER 28TH, 2015. MY HEAD IS swimming, labelling TracPhones (burners), one per contact, one per day, destroy, burn, buy, balancing levels of encryption, mirroring through
Blackphones, anonymous e-mail addresses, unsent messages accessed in draft form. It’s a clandestine horror show for the single most technologically illiterate man left standing. At 55 years old, I’ve never learned to use a laptop. Do they still make laptops? No fucking idea! It’s 4:00 in the afternoon. Another gorgeous fall day in New York City. The streets are abuzz with the lights and sirens of diplomatic movement, heads of state, U.N. offi cials, Secret Service details, the NYPD. It’s the week of the U.N. General Assembly. Pope…
