text: I am sitting at my desk, alone, surrounded by empty bottles and cigarette smoke. I can feel the start of a headache growing deep within my forehead, so in a futile attempt to distract myself I try glancing through my books picking volumes out at random turning from philosophy to self-help books, from poetry to financial manuals, all to no avail. Eventually, after becoming bored of being bored, I pick up my pen, turn on some music, and start writing. I cast my mind back to sitting outside in the heat, staring at the scenery, and forcing my fingers to type some book review or another that I was meant to be working on. In the distance I hear a car accelerating, then I see Julian’s BMW pulling up in front of me, and I see Tom get out and walk towards me. “Hey man, can I bum one?” Said Tom sitting down in the chair next to me and running his hands through his hair. “Sure, why are you in Julian’s car?” I asked handing him a cigarette and my lighter. “Oh he lent it to me... What are you working on?” He said from in between puffs of smoke. “It’s nothing important just a review of some book for the magazine.” I said. “Any good? The book I mean.” He said. “No. I it’s actually the worst thing they’ve made me read so far. Take a look at this shit.” I said pointing to a black paperback lying on the table. “As far as poetry goes it’s fucking pedantic and that title, *The Dark between the Stars,* I know that poets are pretentious but... Jesus!” “Jesus... what do you think happens after people die?” He broke in suddenly, his eyes darting around first from the book, to me, to the car, to other houses, back to me then starting the whole cycle over again. “Well... I mean... Ok as far as I can tell a priori, from books... It’s impossible to completely do away with the notion of a god as it’s impossible to prove something doesn’t exist. However I do think that all the religions we’ve managed to come up with are wrong, Christianity in particular is nothing more than a bad plagiarism, but probably after we die our brains stop functioning and so do we.” I said. “Don’t you think that there’s any hope that people, loved ones, that we get to see them again?” He said. “That right there is one of the worst aspects of religion. You see it plays on our worst anxieties, mines its way into the depths of our mind just because we want to see the people that we like again.” I said. “Can I ask you something serious then? About life?” Said Tom. “Life is much too important to talk seriously about. Besides it’s early and I’m far to sober for that kind of discussion.” I said. “Quoting Oscar Wilde really? How old are you?” He said. “Hey! I will defend my right to quote Wilde no matter how old I am.” I said. “Whatever.” He said leaning back and staring out at the suburban expanse in front of the house. “No come on don’t be like that. What was it?” I said. “You like the existentialists right? I’ve been around many a late night discussion that you’ve undertaken about them.” He said. “Yes although I prefer absurdism over existentialism if only because I like Camus more than Sartre.” I said. “Outline the concept of bad faith for me. No seeing as you like Camus how about the absurd?” He said. “Well... hang on let me think for a second... ok the main thing that Camus was concerned about was the human desire for meaning in a meaningless world. The Catch-22 of existence, we require purpose to function but no purpose is possible.” I said. “And when confronted with that proposition what is a person meant to do?” He said. “If you’re Camus like five chicks at once.” I said, smiling at him as one does when they think that they’ve said something witty but still needs approval on whether or not to laugh. “NO! Be serious!” He yelled. “Ok... um faced with the inherent absurdity of the world Camus thinks that we should carry on anyway. To be so free that our very existence is an act of rebellion. Not to suppress any part of yourself.” I said. “That last part, not suppressing any part of your nature, if say purely hypothetically there was a Cannibal who by his nature had to eat people. By Camus’ logic that Cannibal should be able to eat as many people as he likes despite any ethical dilemmas.” Said Tom. “I think that you’re talking more about Sartre there, he was more inclined to natures and bad faith and stuff... But yes I would have to admit that based on Camus’ logic the Cannibal would be able to eat as many people as he likes. However based on just human morality, no people shouldn’t eat each other.” I said by now we had become much more animated and relaxed as the conversation progressed. The sun was starting to set. “Another hypothetical then say there was a man who had a wife and that wife was pregnant. And that man loved his wife, what sort of man wouldn’t love his wife, but that wife decided to leave that man... and ran off to his friend’s house. What should that man have done?” He said. “I’m not really sure what the point of that one was.” I said, hesitantly. “Ok... do you remember that play that you read and then couldn’t shut up about for a whole week, Faust? Well I picked up a copy the other day and you were perfectly right about how good it was, there was this one bit that stuck with me. *I am the spirit that negates. And rightly so...*” He said. “*For all that comes to be deserves to perish wretchedly*. Mephistopheles.” I said. “I killed Grace.” Said Tom. “And Julian. And...” It is difficult to convey silence in a work of prose. And it is especially difficult to convey the kind of silence Tom and I experienced then. I can’t quite remember what I said next and looking back now I’m not sure what anyone would be able to say next. However I do know that after the silence Tom explained how he had snuck into Julian’s house to find his wife, but instead of talking like he had planned, strangled her. Then he had killed Julian, stole his car and drove here. After such an explanation he pulled out a handgun... on second thoughts I’m not going to write this after all.