"You didn't take you meds, did you?"
He ignored my question, opened up the fridge, unwrapped a day old ham sandwich and took a bite.
"Hey, nephew, you're here on my dime. You're here for amusement and companionship and conversation. You're not my nurse," he said, mouth half-full with sandwich and belligerence. He opened up a cabinet and shoved his head in, ostensibly in search of something.
"Don't just stand there," I heard his doubly muffled voice. "Come help me find the Jaeger." He pulled out the bottle and took a long satisfying gulp before I could be of any assistance.
"Here, have some."
"Its a little too early for that, Uncle Vance."
"Its never too early, never too late, for..." he downed another voluminous swig, and extended the bottle as a wordless invitation. I accepted.
A few dueling swigs later, Vance held an empty bottle.
"You know, son," he looked penetratingly at his vanquished friend-foe. "We all need something to make life bearable. Some prefer expensive cars. Some enjoy cheap women adorned with pricey trinkets. Others prefer the company of a book to anything else. They name their boredom hobbies or interests or sex or a career. In the end, they grow tire of it and buy a better car and find a cheaper whore and go to a movie. More or less, the majority of humanity are intransigents desperately denying an inescapable desire: to be done with it all."
"Something keeps us going. You know what that is?" He asked me.
"Fear."
"Yeah. As much as we want to be waltzing with the Reaper under a starless sky, we are afraid of what follows."
"Nothing follows," I said rather confidently. His eyes turned from the bottle up to meet mine.
"Are you certain of this?"
"Well, no. There is no certainty either way. All there is is belief."
"Speculation. All there is is speculation - desperate attempts at making the ineffable coherent, the uncertain definite, and providing consolation for earthly misery," he took a final bite of his sandwich. He finished chewing and continued.
"Eventually, if you're around long enough, life becomes an extended bout of quiet exasperation." He finally tossed the empty bottle into an almost full bin - I would soon escort them to the nearest liquor store in exchange for another round.
"You're how old now?"
"I'm 25."
[incomplete]
