NO, NO, WE'LL DO IT

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, man. My friend, Stacy, works with him. Next time you're in the city, go in there. He works like happy hour and shit."

"Dude, I can't believe that. They were fucking huge! I saw them at Tramps. I mean, he's gotta be what, in his late forties by now?"

"Yeah, probably. He might even be in his early fifties."

"Jesus, man, I hate hearing shit like that."

"Yeah, I know, but at the same time, I think that's exactly what's needed. I don't know, something's happened, something's changed. Even when I see something great anymore, it just doesn't matter as much. You see it and then it's gone, and then what? Everything's been done and everyone's great at everything, everyone knows everything. Everything just seems so fucking pointless."

"It's called nihilism, dude. You're depressed."

"No, it's more than that. It's like me with my writing, I could care less about getting anything published anymore. I'm serious, I don't think about that shit at all anymore. I'm not interested in anything going on in that world. I mean, what's the point? It's just a big jackoff like everything else. I don't care what other writers have to say or publishers or anyone like that. I seriously don't give a shit. I can't think of anything less interesting. If I can make my brother laugh or my friend, Steve Walls, likes it, or my brother-in-law, that's all I care about anymore."

"Yeah, well, we'll see if you start getting some stuff published."

"Published in what? Like who the hell cares? What's that gonna do? Plus, I don't even think it's writing I'm after anymore. It's something else, something sort of in between it all or something. Normal writing just doesn't do it anymore. It can't reflect what needs to be reflected. It's totally inadequate. It's weird, man, I don't even enjoy having interesting conversations anymore. It's like even when it's interesting, it's not interesting. I'd rather talk to the idiot at the bar or eavesdrop on some ghetto bitch at Key Food. THAT'S what's interesting to me now. I'm just so fucking bored with all the people around here, all the intellectual bullshit and their goddamn art and all their fucking fundraisers and shit. GODDAMN IT, these people make me fucking miserable!"

"Maybe you guys SHOULD move?"

"Yeah, I'd just be miserable somewhere else. You know what's funny is that just now while I was saying all of that, I starting thinking maybe I'm just not there yet, ya know, I'm just not digging deep enough."

"You mean with your writing?"

"Yeah. Maybe I just haven't reached it yet? Maybe I'm still hovering around it? Maybe I'm just scared of the consequences if I were to really write, you know, like a real novel or something, and I'm just one of those pathetic people that's angry with themselves but takes it out on the world?"

"Maybe?"

"Shit, I better go. I gotta be at work by noon."

"Yeah, alright. See ya later. Hey, let's go up the mountain sometime."

"Sure."

"You always say that."

"No, no, we'll do it."