"what is it," he asked, "With people today?"
"Well, that's a fairly broad question, isn't it? There couldn't possibly be a sufficient answer," I started to say. I got as far as "We..." before he started back in again.
"No no no no no." The volume doubled. "NO NO NO NO NO NO!"
"No what, dude?" I tried to sip, but my glass was empty. Worst service ever. If I could just catch the eye of the damn
"NO!" He grabbed my arm. "Don't be this, like, moral relativist. Some things are better than others, and people used to read better books. BETTER. BOOKS."
"No, they didn't."
"THEY DID. All the classics are... old. They're, you know, classic."
"That's because they're the ones that are still around, man. The ones that people kept reading. Not every book was Moby Dick. We have the wheat. The chaff got chaffed."
"Chaffed?"
"Chaffed."
"BUT THEY..."
"Dude, stop shouting."
"I want you to know I mean it."
"I know you mean it. Stop shouting. Oh, hey, waiter, can I... HEY!" He kept walking. Well, maybe next time he walks by. In an hour. Why do I even
"But writers don't write like they used to."
"Don't be ridiculous. What's different?"
"They used to be men. MEN. They used to drink whiskey."
"Maybe they could get a refill. Ever."