=Nothing to Nothing=

Well the plague rolled into town and I can’t say I minded too much. The population needed thinning in my humble opinion. Most of the people I ran across on a day-to-day basis were assholes—self-centered, narrow-minded, compassionless, I’d always said as much. Just because they were keeling over screaming in record numbers covered in black boils and running cankers didn’t miraculously make them better people. There, I’ve said it. I may not be a humanitarian, but I’m no hypocrite either. As luck would have it, I had my own antidote, distilled through a lifetime of solitude, which I shared with no one. I had enough for four people, in fact, but how did I know I wouldn’t need to save myself four more times? Look, the fact is, everyone has to invent their own cure, just like you have to find your own path to God, or pick your own nose, or whatever. Down at the Lion Head Pub, I was drinking alone when a stranger took the stool next to mine. He was a somber man, dressed as if for a funeral or a gig at a jazz club. He put a battered black case down at his feet. It was covered with faded stickers from various destinations around the world; from the roadmap on his face alone you could tell that he was very well traveled. He motioned for the bartender and asked for a club soda, just like any good alcoholic practicing his sobriety.  We sat there for a long time, side by side, saying nothing, sipping from our respective glasses in companionable silence. We stared up at the television mounted above the mirrored bottles: a soccer match from Europe, which the plague had spared, at least for now, was in its final seconds. No one had scored yet and it was clear that no one ever would.