Pearls

He was a somewhat odd sight to behold. Every day I would see him huddled in between the doorway and the adjacent all in what must have been a rather uncomfortable situation; however, he managed to sit in such a way that made it almost appear to be inviting.

And even though it certainly was not the first time I had seen him, it was the first time I had ever taken an acute interest in observing him. However, something made me think that it was not I who was the observer nor was I ever intended to be. Nevertheless, I saw him, and in this one instance he stirred as if readying himself and spoke.

"People can be like pearls. They strive to surround themselves with a seemingly rich and pure luster. They carefully assemble, layer upon layer, walls of pseudo-intellectualism--philosopher so and so's take on this, psychologist somebody's take on that. But it's all elaborate decor to shade the issue. The thought is simple, the explanation is clear, it screams, 'When I do something bad or something that makes me feel guilty, I don't want to take responsibility, but if I do something good and commendable, I want to be responsible.' You see, when it comes down to the core of things, people are sand. Sand--that kind of annoying, wayward, insignificant stuff that's just a chip off the rock, a mere reflection of a grander, greater whole. People aren't as complex as they pretend to be. There's always a deeper issue, a secret inhibition; and we're not talking Freud."