The morning after the terrorist attacks, American flags blossomed throughout the megalopolis. One year on, they have wilted. Has the tide of nationalism been stemmed? No: fear has returned, it’s important to do nothing to attract the attention of an eventual enemy. Too many people are allergic to the Stars and Stripes, no point getting them riled up. The United States of America continues to account for 40 percent of global defense expenditure. I’ve been wondering for some days now what it is about New York that has changed. I’ve just worked it out: America has just discovered doubt. They never knew René Descartes. Freud brought them a plague, but the land of my forefathers, the land of milk and honey, had never experienced doubt. And now, whichever way I turn, I see doubt being sown in the American dream. Not only in the people. Cars doubt. Supermarkets doubt. Parking lots aren’t sure of anything anymore. Deconsecrated churches transformed into nightclubs doubt themselves. Traffic jams are no longer convinced of their certainty. Designer stores wonder whether it’s all worth it. Traffic lights don’t stay red for long. Billboard ads feel ashamed. Airplanes are frightened of frightening people. Buildings put the past behind them. America has entered the age of Descartes.