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In the smoky dusk of a Soviet winter, Comrade Mikhail - proud defender of the Five-Year Plan and sworn enemy of anything resembling a price tag - stood outside the People's Canteen No. 472. Its sign, as always, displayed today's menu: "Borscht (possibly)."
Beside him stood a visitor from the decadent West, a smug fellow named Larry Fairborne. He eyed the long queue with curiosity.
"You know, Mikhail, you could really improve service if restaurants here were privatized."
Mikhail gasped.
"Privatized? Restaurants? In Soviet Russia? Don't be absurd! Food is a public good!"
"Public good? But food is rivalrous, and requires…"
"No, no! In our scientific Marxist understanding, food is shared by all, like sunshine or potholes. Suppose we had your 'private restaurant.' What would stop a man from entering, eating, and simply not paying?"
"Well… the owner would stop him."
Mikhail shook his head with pity.
"Impossible. Completely unthinkable. To prevent non-payers, you'd need people whose job it is to make sure rules are followed! You'd need guards! And next you'll tell me we could privatize those too!"
He laughed a hearty Soviet laugh, which echoed slightly, perhaps because the canteen walls were hollow.
"Well, actually…"
"No, no. Don't finish that sentence. In the People's State, we understand that some things simply cannot be provided privately. Food, for example. And law. And security. Imagine! Private people ensuring contracts? Private people enforcing rules? Ha! They would run wild!"
Just then the canteen door opened. A worker held a ladle in the air.
"Comrades! Great news! Today's borscht will arrive tomorrow!"
The crowd applauded dutifully.
Mikhail smiled contentedly. "You see, comrade Larry? This is how a public-good system works - efficient as ever."