Hercule Poirot stands on the balcony, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Atop the clock tower in Jaffa, Israel, the greatest detective in the world stares into the distance. It is 1934.
Still baffled by how the Belgian gentleman with the big mustache solved the case of the missing relic, the captain of the police can’t help himself but stare.
“It’s just…how did you know it was him, sir? From just a tiny crack on the wall.”
“I have the advantage…I can only see the world as it should be. And when it is not, the imperfection stands out like the nose in the middle of a face. It…it makes most of life unbearable. But it is useful in the detection of crime.”
There are a lot of Hercule Poirots here on Medium. Wonderful, rational people. It’s one of the reasons why I love this place. We may not all be detectives by profession, but we’re just as curious, just as righteous, just as skeptical of everything that, in a balanced world, shouldn’t be.
It’s why we read and write about justice, about equality, about fairness. About getting along, living better, and being kind. But sometimes we come up short.
This is a letter to everyone facing those times. A letter to rational people.
