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"I have no idea where this is going."
"Does anybody?" He watches a moth flutter around the overhanging light. "As much people like to shroud themselves in a false sense of security with their jobs and mortgages, life insurance and retirement plans, can anybody honestly say they know where they are going to be in five years time? People like to plan so far ahead in their lives, right up until the day they die- hell, they even plan after their death. Wills, paperwork, and the religious ones constantly worrying about their afterlives- its endless! But you know, most of them don't even know what they're having for lunch the next day."
"And what about the people who do plan all their next meals?"
"What do you think?"
I mull it over. I feel like this is a lesson and he is my tutor. "I guess… their lives must be pretty meaningless."
"Yes, I suppose they must." He muses, and then leans forward in his chair and it seams like he's considering me.
"Do you plan your meals?"
I can't help but feel a bit defensive, "sometimes," I admit a bit guiltily.
He regards me with scrutiny and I suddenly feel a bit too exposed, embarrassed.
He raised an eyebrow, "you're angry?"
"You've just made me feel ashamed for knowing tomorrow is a toast with raspberry jam day."
"It's your choice to feel ashamed, I just think its a bit sad; if not just boring."
"So your telling me that you never know what your next meal is going to be?
"But isn't that exhausting?"
He doesn't answer, and doesn't quite meet my eyes.