"Not America, no," the old man said. "You Yankees aren’t Babylon. You only part of her, now. Babylon-she-multinational, Babylon-she-multilateral." He chanted the words. "Babylon she come to get us where we live." He sighed. "You like it here, I know. I ask the old women, they say they like it too. They say you nice, you baby’s cute. But where she growing up, that baby, in your nice one world with its nice one set of rules? She have no place to run. You think that over, seen? Before you come down on us." He stood up, yawning. "Tomorrow, eh? Tomorrow." He left.