We don't know what our health care costs are going to be. We

Host: The evening sky over the city was painted in layers of grey and smoke, the kind that promised neither rain nor clarity. Inside a quiet rooftop bar, the neon lights from the streets below cast fractured colors across the glass walls, like the heartbeat of a restless economy trying to find its rhythm.

Two half-finished drinks sat between Jack and Jeeny — condensation pooling in silent circles on the mahogany table. Around them, the muted hum of conversation floated — brokers, analysts, workers all murmuring about numbers that ruled their days but never loved them back.

On a television screen behind the bar, a political pundit replayed a familiar clip — the words of Jim Renacci, strong and certain:
“We don’t know what our health care costs are going to be. We don’t know what our tax rates are going to be. We don’t know what our interest rates are going to be. We don’t know what our energy costs are going to be. All these uncertainties are being driven by the Government’s agenda. What we really need to do is get Government to step back.”

The sound faded into the hum of the bar, but the quote hung in the air like a scent that refused to leave.

Jeeny: Sighing, tracing her finger along the glass rim. “Uncertainty. That’s the word that always gets thrown around like a weapon. But uncertainty isn’t always destruction, Jack. Sometimes it’s just… transition.”

Jack: Leaning back, his grey eyes cold and thoughtful. “Tell that to a small business owner trying to budget for next year’s taxes. Or a retiree whose savings shrink every time the government changes its mind. Transition sounds poetic when you’re not footing the bill.”

Host: The bartender passed, his reflection rippling across the polished countertop like the shifting lines of a financial graph. The city lights flickered in time with Jack’s tone — steady, sharp, pragmatic.

Jeeny: “But isn’t the whole point of government to adapt? To respond to crisis, to keep balance? If it steps back completely, who protects the people who fall through the cracks?”

Jack: “Who said people need protection from themselves? Every time the government tries to fix something, it breaks something else. The markets freeze because no one knows what tomorrow’s rules are. Businesses can’t invest, families can’t plan, and everyone’s waiting for permission to breathe.”

Jeeny: Her voice calm, but fierce underneath. “And yet, when the government does step back, we end up with monopolies, polluted rivers, medical bankruptcies. You talk about freedom, but for most people, that kind of freedom feels like drowning.”

Jack: “No — that’s responsibility. Freedom means risk, Jeeny. It means living without guarantees.”

Jeeny: Quietly. “And dying without safety nets.”

Host: The lights flickered, dimmed slightly as if the power grid itself were listening to their argument. The air-conditioning hummed, and the city below groaned under its own invisible machinery — the weight of policies, prices, and promises unkept.

Jack: “Look, I’m not saying chaos is better. But when the government controls the economy like a chessboard, it kills momentum. Investors stop innovating. Workers stop striving. Everything becomes a waiting game — waiting for the next law, the next subsidy, the next bailout.”

Jeeny: “And when government doesn’t step in, what happens? We’ve seen it before — recessions, foreclosures, uninsured children. You can’t build a fair society on the myth that everyone starts from the same square.”

Jack: Scoffing softly. “Fairness isn’t the government’s job. Opportunity is. Give people a stable ground — low taxes, predictable laws, open markets — and they’ll build fairness themselves.”

Jeeny: “You have too much faith in the invisible hand. It’s not invisible, Jack. It’s selective. It shakes hands with those already holding power, and slaps the rest.”

Jack: “And you have too much faith in control. The government doesn’t create prosperity, Jeeny. It siphons it. Every new program, every new regulation, it’s a drag on growth. We need to unleash potential, not babysit it.”

Jeeny: “And yet when the system collapses under that same greed, who do they run to? The government. Every time.”

Host: The rain began to fall, thin and silvery, tapping against the glass with a sound like coins dropped into an endless well. The city lights blurred, turning the skyline into a painting of liquidity and loss.

Jack turned toward the window, his reflection overlapping with the skyscrapers outside — a man stitched into the fabric of capitalism, both its critic and its child.

Jack: Softly. “You know what the real problem is? No one trusts anyone anymore. Not the market, not the government, not the banks, not even each other. Every policy feels like a gamble.”

Jeeny: “That’s because everything’s become transactional. Even hope. We talk about health care like it’s a spreadsheet, energy like it’s just currency, people like they’re demographics.”

Jack: Nods. “That’s because government made it that way. You turn humanity into policy, and you get bureaucracy instead of compassion. People don’t need oversight. They need breathing room.”

Jeeny: “They need protection from the same forces that promise them breathing room. The market doesn’t know mercy, Jack. It only knows momentum. And momentum without conscience is disaster.”

Host: The music from the bar’s speaker changed — a slow jazz tune, old and familiar, threading through the heavy silence between them.

Jeeny leaned forward, her voice quieter now.

Jeeny: “I’m not saying government gets it right. It rarely does. But it’s still the only system accountable to people rather than profit. When you say you want it to step back, what you really mean is — let the strongest write the rules.”

Jack: “And when you say you want it to stay, you mean — trust the same people who can’t balance a budget to balance our lives.”

Jeeny: Smiling faintly, weary. “Maybe both are wrong. Maybe the problem isn’t too much government or too little — it’s the wrong kind of governance. One that serves its power, not its people.”

Jack: “So what’s your fix? Another reform? Another promise to ‘build back better’ while the same system keeps rotting?”

Jeeny: “My fix is memory. Remembering that democracy wasn’t built to make us comfortable — it was built to make us accountable.”

Jack: Pausing, then softly. “Accountable. To what?”

Jeeny: “To each other.”

Host: The rain slowed, and the neon lights below reflected in the puddles like galaxies trying to reform. The bar had emptied, leaving only the low hum of electricity and their silhouettes against the glass.

Jack finished his drink, set the glass down, and looked at Jeeny with an expression that was equal parts exhaustion and respect.

Jack: “You know… maybe uncertainty isn’t the enemy. Maybe it’s the price of freedom. The question is — who should bear it?”

Jeeny: “All of us. Equally. But that’s the one thing power never shares.”

Jack: “Then maybe government stepping back isn’t enough. Maybe people need to step forward.”

Jeeny: Smiling softly. “Now that’s a policy I’d vote for.”

Host: The rain stopped. The city lights steadied, and the faint outline of dawn began to bloom beyond the skyline — a fragile promise of renewal.

Jack stood, adjusting his coat. Jeeny followed, and for a moment they stood side by side, two silhouettes framed against a world forever caught between regulation and freedom, chaos and control.

And as they stepped out into the quiet morning, Jim Renacci’s words seemed to echo through the air — no longer as criticism, but as a question the world still hadn’t answered:

“What if the government’s retreat isn’t what we need — but our courage to govern ourselves is what we’ve forgotten?”