Jeff Bezos and Mark Twain are stuck in Submarine on Lockdown and forced to have a deep conversation.

Here's their conversation:

"Well, Mr. Twain," Bezos began, adjusting his glasses, "seems like even the best laid plans can't account for every black swan event, eh? A locked sub eats into efficiency."

Twain chuckled, stroking his mustache. "Efficiency, you say? Seems to me life's too short to be efficient, son. It's meant for driftin' down the river, not calculatin' the current."

"But without systems, Mr. Twain, we'd still be selling books out of a garage. Scale demands structure."

"Structure's a fine thing, I reckon, but too much of it and you strangle the very life you're trying to organize. Like tryin' to cage a mockingbird."

Bezos paused, considering. "Perhaps. But doesn't a cage, even one built of data, allow the bird to thrive, protected from the elements, predators?"

"Protected, yes. But is it truly livin', or just existin' pretty?" Twain countered, his eyes twinkling.

"I suppose that depends on the bird's definition of freedom," Bezos admitted, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Twain nodded. "Indeed. And whether that freedom is worth the risk of a little rain and a hawk or two."

Bezos looked out the porthole. "Risk and reward. The foundational principle of any enterprise, wouldn't you say?"

"And the foundation of a good story, too, Mr. Bezos. Seems we're not so different after all."