In progress

"I suppose that I've settled into a sort of bourgeois nihilism of late. So little seems to matter a great deal and the days slip by uncounted." He shifted in the banquette uncomfortably. We'd now been talking for two hours. The wait staff hated us, four coffees and two hours later. 

"Are you sure you're not just bored again" I asked, adopting aloofness. 

"You'd be so reductive"

"You'd be so melodramatic."

He idly stirred his coffee. My eyes wandered out the window into the always busy streets. 

"I suppose. But it all is intractable, however you choose to label it. We can't actually change anything of worth. That's a sort of boredom I suppose."

I hadn't heard him. I was too fascinated by the large man outside trying to thrust flyers for some local titty bar in the the hands of every passerby. He caught my eye because he seemed so enthusiastic. He wore ill fitting clothes, a smile seemingly the platonic ideal, and an honest swagger. He stood in stark contrast to the man before me.