Young Man: "I'm guessing she left us alone to have that particularly awkward chat between the suitor and the suitee's father."
Older Man: "It would seem so. What do you do?"
Young Man: "Nothing."
Older Man: "Excuse me?"
Young Man: "I do nothing, sir."
Older Man: "You're unemployed?"
Young Man: "If you like."
Older Man: "Well, I really don't, actually."
Young Man: "I walk a particular path, I'd say."
Older Man: "And that path is?"
Young Man: "I reject others' attempts at shaping me."
Older Man: "Well, son, there really is a time where you've got to grow the fuck up and eat that crow, you know? And you sound pretentious as hell with the way you're answering my questions."
Young Man: "Is that what growing up is? I feel like an adult. I look like an adult. I make adult decisions, but I resent the hell out of anyone who tries to force me to be something I'm not."
Older Man: "So basically you're a lowlife, a drifter."
Young Man: "I suppose for the sake of your argument that I am indeed a lowlife."
Older Man: "You don't seem like a complete dumbass, though."
Young Man: "I don't think I am. My particular path is one of confusion and uncertainty as well as dire purpose."
Older Man: "Dire purpose? Christ, I take that back. You might actually be an imbecile. But I don't follow what you mean by 'dire purpose'."
Young Man: "Well, you are right in that I am a drifter, sir. However, I don't much drift from place to place, unless you consider jobs to be places. They are, but usually a drifter is someone who has no real fixed home. I suppose I do have a fixed home."
Older Man: "Then how are you a drifter?"
Young Man: "I drift from idea to idea. From love to love. From certainty to uncertainty."
Older Man: "No wonder you're so pretentious. You're one of those tortured artist-types."
Young Man: "In a way, we all are. Everyone who works for a job that does not fulfill their soul is a tortured artist in a way. I don't look at myself as a tortured artist. I look at myself as a complete outsider. Someone for whom destiny is merely a pipe dream."
Older Man: "Destiny isn't a word most people bandy about, son. You aren't going to impress me by bandying about those words, either. I can bandy with the best of them."
Young Man: "I don't think I HAVE to impress you, sir, but let me just tell you exactly what I represent. I represent failure. Most likely, my entire life will elude me as I strive for something that I cannot name. I know exactly what it is I like and what it is I do not like, yet I cannot tell you exactly what it is that I want. I want the world to be better, but I do nothing to make it thus and I live on the outskirts of responsibility."
Older Man: "Sounds like a pretty eloquent cop-out to me."
Young Man: "Could be, yet I cop out of nothing, sir. I claim personal responsibility for everything I do or say. When I am criticised for what I am, I merely shrug my shoulders. They, and you, are absolutely right. Who can judge me harsher than myself?"
