There he was, sitting in the lobby. He looked up and saw me. We exchanged good mornings and I stopped and sat across from him. [Brief awkward pause] “May I ask you a weird question?” “Yes,” he said. He folded his hands and stared at me. “This question doesn’t mean anything, I just like to ask questions.” He waited in silence. “Last night, was that water you were drinking or vodka?” He didn’t skip a beat, gave me a little smirk and said, “Vodka.” I said, “Okay.” I smiled. Then he said, “Did you finish the book you were reading?” “Almost, I’ll have to finish on the plane,” I replied. And, that was about it. See ya, have a nice day, the end.
So, the question didn’t mean anything? Then why the fuck did I ask it? I wonder about me sometimes. Either answer would have been wrong. Or either answer would have been right and I would have made it wrong. I am a giant pile of cynical.