Richard Bach. Illusion (№ 190717)

"Donald," said I, when we got to the field. "I came to the conclusion that you just don't live in this world." He looked at me with the wing of his plane where he had gone to fill petrol in the tank. "Of course not. Can you tell me to call someone who lives in it?"
"What do you mean, can I call someone who lives? I! I live in this world!"
"Excellent," he railed, like I managed to uncover a terrible secret. "Remind me then that today I treat you to lunch. I'm just amazed that you are able to constantly learn." It threw me off. He spoke without sarcasm and irony; he was absolutely serious. "What do you mean? Of course I live in this world. I and about four billion people. It's you..."
"Oh, God, Richard! Are you serious! Lunch is canceled. No steaks, no salads, no nothing! I thought that you captured the main knowledge". He paused and looked at me with regret. "Are you sure about this. You live in the same world as, for example, a stock broker, right? And your life, I think, has just changed dramatically because of the new policy of the Exchange Committee from the redistribution of Ministerial portfolios with a fifty percent loss of investment for shareholders? You live in the same world as the chess professional? The new York open tournament starts this week. Petrosian, Fischer and brown are fighting for the prize of half a million dollars. What do you do in this field in Meylend, Ohio? You and your biplane, "fleet", edition of 1929, here, to the farm field, and nothing is more important than the permission to use this field for flying, people who want to ride on a plane, permanent motor repair and that, God forbid, did not go the grad... How much do you think the person lives in your world? So you stand there on the ground, and seriously claim that four billion do not live in four billion different worlds, you're really going to prove to me?" - he quickly said he started to choke.