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“These attempts at defining reality by means of a three dimensional graph and mathematical model are not only an insult to the authority of a normative reason, but tempt the very beast that has us by the throat: death.” I raised my eyebrows and decided that setting my hands down calmly on the table would get across my intensely serious disposition. “Can we get the check?” Dudley tugged on his cuffs and then checked his steel Timex again. “I think we need to order mocha lattes and dialogue on this matter of representative reality.” I narrowed my eyes with what, based on several weeks of practice in front of my antique eight-foot silver dressing mirror, I had come to assume was a moderately accusatory gaze. Dudley flagged the waiter, an adorable older European gentleman of impeccable manners and old world charm. “We need the che…” “Le-che," I interrupted. "We need café con leche. One for me and one for my adversary here.” “Fine, but you’re paying this time, McDumphry,” Duddley said. “I don’t want to hear no shit. Let’s see the cash.” The old waiter wandered away. Duddley felt under the table at my pockets. I was of course immediately overcome by so-called homosexual panic. But Duddley was playing it straight and quickly removed my ivory and gold Egyptian billfold. “Money is the least of your concerns,” I declared with satisfaction. "You are standing on existential quicksand!” “Whatever,” he said and ran out of the place. He didn’t return my billfold. But my loss is nothing compared to his; his metaphysical ambitions were simply not tenable.
Date Written: October 25, 2005
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4.35714