Since mid-September, engines have been breaking down after a fill-up. The damage has victims, but it still has no one responsible. This vacuum is no accident: it is the very form of our petroleum market.

The mechanic placed the bill on the hood with a delicacy I will not forget, the way one lays down a death certificate. Three thousand fifty-two dollars. He did not talk about bad luck or wear and tear. He said: “It’s the gasoline. You’re not the first this week.” Then he shrugged, that gesture we all know, which means that the fault lies somewhere but no one will come looking for it.