Gild

Every electronic sound prompts me to hurriedly reach into my pocket
and whip out the phone, only to be disappointed when I realise the
ringing is coming from something else entirely.

As I approach a small and slightly run-down pub, I recognise several
people standing by the entrance, about to go in. One of them notices me
and raises a hand in greeting. "Hey, how're you doin'?"

I give my default reply - this guy doesn't really care. He's just
making small talk. Filling a perceived silence. I can't remember his
name.

"We've all come out, goin' to the pub," he explains, waving his arm
towards the entrance, "want to join us?"

"You having lunch?" I already know what his answer will be.

"Nah, man. We're just gonna get pissed. It's a Thursday afternoon. It's
gotta be done," he responds. He thinks he's discovered some great
universal secret.

"I've got more important things to do than get pissed and waste a day
away, thanks."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"I'm walking. Thinking about things. I'm waiting for a phone
call."

The guy looks at me, puzzled. He won't understand. "You're weird, man,"
he says. "How is walkin' and thinkin' more important than havin' a
drink with your pals, huh?"

So fake. He doesn't consider me his friend. He can't even remember my
name. It's all an act of civility, an attempt to make the world a nicer
place. They don't realise that they're just running away from the
truth.

"I'll come to some conclusions. Maybe I'll discover some things. You're
just going to sit in there and lose twenty-four hours of your life. For
what? For nothing."

He stares at me for a moment. "Y'know what, man? You're really fuckin'
up yourself. You know that? You think you're all superior and this
shit, you've got all these theories and philosophical thoughts, and
alright...but look at you - you just wander round all day by yourself,
doin' nothin', seein' no-one. Just thinkin'. And, y'know? Thinkin' is
all well and good, but if you don't put it into practice, then what's
the point, man?" He pauses for breath. "Yeah, that's right, we think
too, yeah? You think you're all that, raised up on your pretentious
crap, thinkin' you know somethin' about the world that we don't. Well,
I'll tell you what: that's bullshit. Everyone has there own way of
livin', man, and you gotta respect that. And you? You're ain't no
different from the rest. You're not special. You just don't know it
yet."

He turns and storms into the pub. I look through the murky windows for
a moment, then continue on my way. People like him can never see how
pointless their lives are, drifting from day to day, never going
anywhere, nothing changing. All of them, desperately trying to live a
forced life, to be somebody else, a false persona. One day they'll
reach the same conclusions as the old man: we're going to die - there's
no time to waste in being anybody other than who you are.