The Truest Thing I Know

The man, looking out over the ocean, said to the man next to him, “I find life very interesting.”

He leaned back in the small beach chair and asked, “What of it?”

“All of it,” he said, “The whole damn thing.”

“Oh, don’t get into this again,” he told him, “Here, have a drink.”

“I want to talk about it.”

The man poured the drink and said, “Won’t you look at that sunset?” and he handed him the drink.

He saw it was a very pretty sunset, orange against the flat, blue water with the strip of light coming towards them and he said, “Yeah, it’s awfully nice.”

“You thought much more of it last time.”

Following a bird with his head across the horizon the man said, “See, that’s the sort of thing I’m talking about.”

“Okay, so what’s the difference now?”

The man shook his head.

“Here, have another.”

“All right.”

He poured the warm whiskey into the paper cup and said to him, “Don’t get soft about it.”

“I don’t strive for this feeling, you know.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, sticking the bottle back into the sand.  “Look at that sunset and breathe it in.”

The man took a deep breath and said, “Sure is pretty.”

They looked at the sun, now slightly above the water.

“You’ll find her soon,” he told the man.

“It’s not about her.”

“What brings this all on, then? Usually, it’s her.”

“It’s not about anything that I can think of.”

The man looked at him and drank the whiskey and said, “Well, did you think you’d get to wield the pen without consequence?”

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