MySpace a place for friends

"Are you still thinking again?" James Hanson walked by with his tray filled with a heap of fast-food.

"Yeah. Yeah. I know. 'It's a bad habit.' I know."

"Yeah, yeah, you damn right is a bad habit. I can't believe you still do that. You realize that thinking..."

"Oh, no. Please, gimme a break."

"Oh yeah, listen. This is your punishment. You realize that thinking kills your brain cells? And isn't it illegal at this time of hour?"

"I'm sorry. I can't help it. I gotta read this last paragraph. It's right at the end and it's a cliffhanger. Hold up."

"Man, gimme that notebook. Gimme that book. And the comic too. What the hell...? Art... Psst," James Hanson snatched the books, and a stack of pencils and pens towards him. James then sat and took a bite of his juicy hamburger. As he chewed, he fumbled the words, "Hmmgh... I heard in the Gotham News that 'thinking can disrupt the frequencies of planes and cellulars and walkie talkies.' And sociologists say that you become so anti-social, that you can even become agoraphobic, which means you have a fear of the street, and people..."

"I know what it means..."

"... And you just don't exist. You become so nonexistent, that you'll get psychedelic or something... Hmgh... Oblivious to the world around you. Now, that doesn't sound right to me. And they say that the reason people think in the first place is just to understand the world better anyways. So I don't get it. I don't see the point."

"Please give me my things. You do your thing, I do mine. I'm not causing any harm to you. Do I?"

"I don't even care. I'm just saying, you know, you're gonna die." Hanson began to slurp from his corporate-generated over-commercialized soda. He began to chew and stuff his mouth with fries and the burger and the such. It didn't matter. He wallowed in his own binge and taste, the taste of taste, and his patient death. And wallowed he did, with enthusiasm. His voice had to clamber over his consumptions as if it were clambering mountains and cliffs, just so it may take off into the air, "You know, that's nasty. Ugh... Don't read and think while I'm eating. What is that? Fiction? Some novel?"

"Non-fiction."

"What?! The hard stuff!? You know that it won't just make you think, right, but it'll change the way you think!? I don't even know how that feels, and I don't even wanna know. It sounds nasty." James continued eating and drinking.

"It doesn't feel nasty. It doesn't feel like anything. Really. It has to accumulate. It's too subtle to notice. But when you realize you think differently, it's a beautiful feeling. Your senses get sharper. And it's like a joke. Life can very well be a joke. Because when you think, it's like you finally get it. I read that somewhere, actually. Nothing's original. You see? It is a joke. How else can you explain the fact that the more intelligent you become, the less you realize you know? For every step you take, the distance doubles. Sometimes, it even triples."

James peered with averse eyes, "You're thinking, aren't you? I don't wanna hear it. I'll get second-hand thinking. You know that it's contagious. It can lead to diseases or cancer: Acquired Intelligence Dexterity Syndrome. And it's not 'be-cause' dammit. It's ''cause.' OK?";

"Yeah, whatever. That's the norm. But just because everybody does it or say it, it doesn't mean it's correct or the right thing to do."

James's gaze of suspicion and aversion continued, "You're always doing this, thinking, right? You've grown dependent, haven't you? Man, is hard work. Why do it if you're happy already, man? That's all I'm saying. I know if I don't get paid over-time, why work extra?"

"Think of it as an investment."

"Investment for what? You know what? I don't wanna hear it. I just know it ain't right. Com'on. I'm over-stuffed. Let's go," James and his pedantic friend walked outside.

"So what are you going to do now?"

"I'mma go right there, across the street to the liquor store and buy me some nice liquor, and maybe watch a game or whatever's on TV. You know, the usual. You?"

"Me? I'm going to go in the investment business," there was a grin and the horizon was in vision, "Maybe change the world so my kids can live in a better home, maybe discover things to answer a few questions that have never been answered, or just become one of many that spread the word around. There are many, but never enough. Maybe I'll get money or power, the selfish thing to do, to take care of my posterity, the unselfish thing to do by some, still selfish by those who know it isn't enough. Or with the money and power I'll take care of the world, ultimately, the unselfish thing to do. I might just mingle with the ones that know (which what we end up doing actually is share notes). I have many options. It..s a playground where I can do anything I want. But I have to do the investing now. First."

"Dude... What da hell is wrong wit' you? Your head is messed up man. Man, now I really need me some liquor! You're giving me a headache."

"Yeah, that's good. That means you're trying to pay attention. I'm just playing with you, though. I just wanted to see you trip a little bit."

"Isn't paying attention the gate-way drug? Don't answer. You do whatever. I'mma go get me my liquor."

They shook hands.

"Look, I just get disgusted sometimes and I know it's hard for you, but I do it 'cause I care about chu, man. I care about your health."

"Yeah, I know. You won't see me reading again."

"That's what I like to hear," James said, releasing his grip. "I'll see you man. Be careful when you do that stuff."

"Don't I know it. It's nice bumping into you. It's been a while, let's hang out again, OK?"

"Yeah, I know. We'll see. Nice seeing you too dude."

They parted their way.

James said, "Man... Why did I hang out with such a fool?"