A man stood calmly next to the dumpsters behind The Comet last night staring at a puddle of his own vomit. He was pondering it, like an ancient searching the stars for answers. And evidently, the constellation within his vomit produced answers, because he repeatedly nodded his head saying, “A-ha, a-ha.” It was like his vomit had been explaining the physics of flight to him for years, and he was just now getting it. He had had a stick in his hand, and every once in a while he stirred at the bubbly, meat stricken gelatinous pulp-mucous that had produced itself out of his stomach. I watched him for a couple minutes, then approached.
I said, “Are you in a K-hole?”
He said, “I play metal.”
I said, “Are you OK?”
He said, “I’m in an I.E. hole.”
I said, “E? Did you have too much E? Do you need help?”
Then he said, “Bootstrap hypotheses. Deny existence of fundamental ingredients of matter. No fundamental entities whatsoever.”
I said, “So you don’t need a cab?”
And he said, “Symmetry is possible,” returning his steadfast gaze to his constellation vomit.
I stared with him in silence for a bit, and he continued to vocally affirm what he saw. He had eaten peas and carrots. It was clear he was going to stare for some time, so I slipped away. Answers, they come in all shapes, at all times. We just have to be open to them.