"Do what?" I reply taking a sip.
"Work with dying people?"
"They're not dead yet."
"But they're dying."
"From the day we are born we start dying," I say now gulping the wine.
"It's depressing," he sighs hugging his beer. "I couldn't do it."
"Aw, you're just scared of dying," I say putting my arm around his shoulder.
"Aren't you?" he squeals.
"Well, I'm not in any hurry for it to happen but ... it's part of life."
"IT IS NOT!" he exclaims, "you die when you stop living."
"Exactly," I smile.
"What?"
"What you said ... you die when you stop living."
"WHAT IN THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?"
I realize my friend is an idiot.
"When you stop living you die," I answer shaking my head.
"Everybody knows that!" he snaps.
"You're the one who asked," I reply returning to the wine.
"What do you mean by that?" he demands slapping his beer on the counter.
"If," I answer, "for whatever reason ... health ... mental health ... the people around you ... where you're at or where you're not ... you decide to stop living then you start dying."
"What?"
"Yeah some just it faster than others."
He shakes his head and guzzles the beer.
"My dying friends remind me every day to enjoy the Hell out of now! Who knows how much 'Now' I've got?"
"You're not right," he says standing to leave.
"Probably not," I agree, standing. "I've got to go too. I have a lunch date with a lady in a Nursing Home who wants to shake the place up."
He rushes out the door never appreciating her lust of life ... as she slowly dies.
