“Reason is hard to define,” McConnaugh said. “We eat, we work, we play, we sleep, occasionally we find someone to fuck…but for what purpose? There is someone telling us to desire something, someone telling us how to work for it, and then someone to keep us distracted from our loneliness. Bro we are constantly being sold something and made to believe this life is worth living. But I tell you, I tell you, its not.”
“You’re missing the point,” I told him but he wasn’t listening. He kept going.
“Ask yourself; what was the last thing you bought or sought to achieve? Were your needs at the time satisfied? Your lust for something! Some girl? Or you want something. A fucking bike. Of course! But then once get it, what happens? It’s over and you’re back o where you started. Empty. That feeling of pleasure left as quickly as it came, replaced by some other wanton desire. Repeating the circle and over and over.”
“You’re missing the point,” I repeated
“Yes? What is the point?”
“I’m not a genius or religious or a true believer of anything. But to me, the point of being alive is to make a difference to society and to someone. Make a difference in the world.”
He paused and lit a second menthol. He took a long drag off the new cigarette before he turned and grinned at me.
“You’re following the old lie my friend. The world doesn’t care.”
It’s a way of looking at life. But McConnaugh was just blind. I let him drink, I let him smoke, and I let him do what he needed to do.