It’s late. I watch my friends argue. It is a cool night, a bit wet; windows wide. I consider killing myself in the morning.
“He’s a Dick,” L insists, lighting a joint.
B shrugs, “Everyone is a dick in one way or another”
L nods taking a long hit. He looks up at the ceiling, blows. The smoke pools, listens a moment, rolls it’s eyes and leaves.
L watches it go. He frowns. “Do you think that means if Buddhism is right and we are all god that god is just a giant floating ball of dicks?” He passes me the joint, aggressively.
B is glaring at L. “Where the hell did you learn about Buddhism?” he cries.
“In philosophy class,” L shrugs.
I take a hit of the joint. I cough and gag.
“Oh! philosophy is bullshit,” B snaps.
L hits his hand on the table. “Philosophy is the study of life!” he proclaims.
“That’s damn absurd, absurd, absurd,” B insists.
I watch L settle his hand on the table. He taps with two fingers, calming himself. “Life is absurd,” he decides, looking a bit sad.
“No, life has meaning,” B points out, finding his way back to the joint.
L frowns, “being absurd doesn’t mean something is meaningless, just silly.”
“Right,” B nods, “philosophy is silly, life is silly, it’s all silly. A giant floating ball of dicks.”
That settles it; they are silent. B closes his eyes, bobbing his head to the smell of tires tearing through wet asphalt outside.
L is nodding, “a giant floating ball of dicks,” he whispers, then smiles, knowingly.
I look from B, to L. They are perfectly at peace. I look to the joint burning a hole in the placemat. I pick it up, take a hit.
I cough and gag.
“I’m going to bed.”