There was a young man whose name is not so important, but let us call him Jakob for now. Near the prime of his life, he moved to a small community in the countryside of a nation whose title is not so important. He was bright and ambitious then, and had grand plans of working up to the position of local mayor or head of law enforcement, perhaps. Adjusting the thinly lined spectacles sitting upon the bridge of his crooked nose, the man gave a low chuckle and said, "It's an art form, really." "Why, I'm but a lowly florist, of course."