Has it dawned on him yet that he's a complete asshole? I ask.
No, I mean it: Did you ever think you might end up hurting somebody's feelings?
It's all about me, he says. He smiles as he says it, or maybe it's just a shadow of a smile. He describes how everything a person does is motivated by some selfish desire, no matter how selfless it might seem on the surface. But no worries: We all end up dead anyway.
"Don't you think it's possible there's more contentment in just being a decent guy?"
"Isn't contentment selfish?"
"Selfishness produces pleasure maybe, but not joy."
"What's the difference?"
I try to come up with an answer, but I'm against the ropes. Dying a little. The best I can do is counter that I'm crushed by his display of human ugliness. That my head hurts.
It is what it is, he concludes.
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