"Does life have a purpose? I sure hope not."
His voice resonated through the cold like a locomotive, simultaneously sublime and solid - a real voice that would stand without need of an echo. He sat there on the curb and he turned his head to me with compassion.
"You look a little startled that I would say something like that - I understand. It's hard to understand why, right now of all times and me of all people, I would hope that life has no reason."
The fluorescent light cut through his glasses, cleaving his lenses with a distinct reflection. The side of his face that was in the light shone genuine, and I was unsure what the other half would reveal. He stretched, pulling his body taught, further sublimating himself without so much as a word. I finally spoke to him,
"I am a little surprised. I mean, you've accomplished so much - I find it hard to believe all that ambition would be so baseless."
He looked at me again, his glasses cleaving and through the cleaves I saw more frankness, edged with another smile.
"Oh, I wouldn't call my self ambitious, no - I don't find myself so arrogant, at least not at my age. I just try to realize the dreams I have, I really do. And when I say realize, I don't mean for myself - I've never had dreams were I was totally alone. I want to bring everyone into those dreams, into a more sustainable reality. What I've accomplished approaches something of the sort, about as close as I can ever hope to get. What I've accomplished brings me to people - I travel not for the spectacle of monuments or museums, not to spread my existence piecemeal into towns or cities but to seek out others, to make them a part of my life; by consequence, that brings them into my dreams."
He took a second to catch his thoughts, as though he were lost:
"I have not found anyone with a purpose I couldn't guess offhand, yet they all seemed happy enough. If life has a purpose, I doubt any of us has found it. I thought I had found purpose in life, but I couldn't help seconding guessing myself once I realized it."
He stood then, and walked to the edge of the parking lot, whatever words he left unsaid trailing behind him. The sliding doors opened and Jan stepped out, an unlit cigarette balanced between her lips, her hands stowing the rest. She lit the cigarette and asked me without a glance,
"What's the deal with him lately? The motherfucker can't just be happy, can he?"
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