A Small Café in Paris
He looks at the glass. He looks at the waitress. Two miserable cubes float in an inch of water. Water from the melted ice. Water with floating black specks in it. He is afraid to ask for more ice. Fear keeps him from drinking the water. And watered-down Pepsi will not do. He drinks the water, despite his fear. He does not want watered-down Pepsi. He pours the Pepsi. The ice melts.
Empires collapse, fortunes evaporate, and stocks nosedive into hell—but a deep sleep, a clean shit, and a laugh that shakes your skeleton remain the closest thing humanity has to real wealth.