A conversation with Lucifer

*Lucifer frequents Burger Heaven at 62th st and Lexington. Once a week, Thursday or Friday, he stops by at about 5:30pm, buys a Cheeseburger Special, with French fries, and a glass of Sprite. He usually eats alone, at the bar.*

*4/17/08. 5:35pm, the restaurant is pretty much empty. A young man in his early twenties sits two seats to Lucifer’s right. Lucifer scans the young man’s fingers, as the young man flips through the menu.*

Lucifer: I distrust the word, ‘Friend’

Man (turns his head to Lucifier): Pardon me?

Lucifer: I distrust the word, ‘Friend.’

Man: Oh. Ok.

Lucifer: I mean, how many friends do we have anyway?

Man: We’ve got friend, some friends, I’m sure

Lucifer: Sure. Why not?

Man: Oh. No reason.

Lucifer: Then we got lots of friends, everyone we meet, speak to, breath on, look at, feel, hold. We have a lot of friends, we do.

Man: Sure.

Lucifer: What are you getting?Man: Probably a cheeseburger special.

Lucifer (points to plate) : That’s what I got.

Man: Oh. It looks good.

Lucifer: It’s ok.

*The waitress comes, takes the Mans order, and leaves. Minutes pass, and neither man speaks. They stare up at the TVs hanging from the ceiling. CNN. After a story on the current death toll in Iraq, there is a story on Lindsay Lohan getting caught on footage picking her nose. The waitress returns with the Man’s plate of food. The man begins to eat.*

Lucifer: What’s your name?

Man (places a French fry in his mouth, chews for a moment, swallows): Greg.

Lucifer: Greg?

Man: Gregorio. Call me Greg.

Lucifer: Yes. Greg. Well, Greg, I have a theory. I think people are looking for every opportunity not to speak to one another. People want to get away from each other. No matter what. The less talking they have to do, the better. If they can, just sit in the room and not be seen, they would do so. They would sit in the background.

*Greg pops a few French fries into his mouth.

Lucifer: Ever see a man sit alone during a paty.

Greg: Yes.

Lucifer: It’s disgusting. Nursing his beer, staring at his feet, then glancing at some girl’s ass as she passes by. Disgusting. And you know why he’s there.

Greg chews.

Lucifer: He wants pussy. But he’s too damn scared to get it. And you know what’s the only thing worse than that?

Greg: What?

Lucifer: A person who tries too hard. Who really, really wants one particular human being. The person—the lover—thinks the lovee is so damn special, so damn awesome, so unique. Out of 7 billion people. So unique, when another would do. Makes you think.

Greg: Yes it does.

Lucifer: But he doesn’t really want to talk to her. No. Romantic love? That shit in movies when only one girlfriend will provide happiness in the world, or life is fucked up? It’s BS. Any person will do. Any husband, any wife. The trick is to be mature enough to understand this. To understand that love—friendships—is about consumption. People are like chocolate cakes. But what we forget about chocolate cakes is that after passing through the intestines the cakes become poop. The same with people. People are disposable.

Greg: Really?

Lucifer: Hell yes. That’s what the Bond movies get right. Ever wonder why every movie had a different chick? Because people are disposable. Agent James Bond is the representation of the male fantas y where the man can exist outside of the boundaries placed upon him. That he can go anywhere. That he can do anything. That he can fuck anybody. And this fantasy is a one man show. The name ‘Pussy Galore’ represents an ideal more than a human being. Represents more of an urge than a soul. People are uninterested in each other’s soul. An individual wants the most gain with the least pain, and burying ourselves into each other’s souls require effort. It requires pain. The man totally obsessed with a woman fails to understand her soul. He is in love with ‘Pussy Galore’

Greg begins to eat his burger.

Lucifer: Not the woman. If the learns to love the woman as he loves himself, he must learn to acknowledge her habits, her desires rather than his own. And that bitch better be reciprocal. Because when two people pay more attention to personal urges than extrapersonal urges, then the relationship suffers. Now, they don’t have to spend all damn day with one another, they just need to understand each other, that’s all. And people have no strength to understand. They just don’t, they just wrapped up in their own thing, and worry little about the world of others. Seven billion narcissists. Do you own a MySpace account?

Greg (bites, chews, and swallows): Check please?