Their conversation had begun amiably enough, because in Austin, it seemed to him at least, all conversations begin amiably. But even speaking about the weather got under his skin in a gnawing sort of way, like the constant concern that maybe he was sitting right over a colony of fire-ants. I mean, it's like a million and five degrees outside, and it's 11 o'clock at night, he thought to himself, as his new acquaintance expounded on the joys of living in a sub-tropical climate -- but he smiled and nodded all the same.
When the conversation turned to politics, however, his apathy waned and the spirit of righteousness and indignation that had been baked into his very core took the reins. He had a lot to say about Washington DC, not to mention the World Bank's follies and Bono's naivité. As he hit his stride, he noticed a look of -- concern? pity? etched on this near-stranger's face. I get freaked out about that stuff too, but I just try to remember, all of this is part of the way, the path. Everything is working out for our highest good. Everything is gonna be okay, the man said, sympathetically patting him on the shoulder.
His temper flared and he felt his eyes bulging as he strained to keep himself from shouting across the room. In the end he was able to restrain himself to a terse but heartfelt, You know what? No. No, everything is NOT going to be okay. He turned on his heel, deposited his half-drunk bottle of Shiner in the recycle bin, and walked directly back to his apartment, where he bought a plane ticket back to Boston, and gave his landlord 30 days notice.
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