There's a guy. When people say "Buy gold," there's a guy. When a nervous young woman wants to pick out a gold-plated football to impress her boyfriend for Valentine's Day, there's a guy. When a mad man barges through town demanding that someone, anyone, supply him with a soft dutile metal, there's a guy. When struggling backwoods types speak yearningly about preparing for the apocalypse by burying gold bars in their cellars, there's a guy. You are that guy.
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