HAWTHORNE:
Oh, who knows. It’s all so depressing. Maybe they were anarchists. Maybe they were climate protesters angry at his Jeep. No good reasons for anything these days.
VANE:
It’s true. The kids are all mental. I read the other day that there’s a group of student lawyers who are prosecuting all men over the age of forty-five for crimes against the rainforest.
WESTCOTT:
Con, you have got to stop reading theExpress.
HAWTHORNE:
No, I saw that too. And some students are saying they identify as soups. Soups!
WESTCOTT:
It’s not like Dave would have even been armed. Just such a waste.
They all pause for a moment. It sounds to me like they’re grappling with the brute fact of mortality; the idea that their friend, so long in their lives that he’s really a small part of themselves, has been taken from them, and that all four survivors are diminished as a result, in different and unpredictable ways. And now they know the fragility of life a little better than before, and any one of them might be next, for as we pass through this vale of tears, we cannot tell—
There’s a grunt, and a pop as a champagne cork ricochets off a wall. Two of the four say ‘weyyyy’, and glugging noises follow. Oh well.
WESTCOTT:
Well, what are you going to do next?
