Our friendship stemmed particularly from our common distaste for milk. I was throwing away milk as a matter of fact into the drain-pipe when I saw that it was being pushed back. Peering in I saw that it was the resident rat that was sweeping it back with his brows furrowed. After inquiring his gender and the reason for the rebellious act, I apologised. “Since childhood I distrust whole solutions to any problem, when milk was promoted as a whole meal in my community, I became suspicious. Not only it leaves a bad taste in mouth, the kidneys too aren’t too happy, ” he said pointing towards a research article mentioning that milk was bad for health especially for snakes. When I told him that far from being a snake he was a prey to them, he said that he didn’t mind my observation but I could see that it hurt. I made up a few stories about the shallow villainy of snakes in general. He just smiled wisely.
For me he became a guide through life. He refused to watch any TV shows, which was devastating. He condemned them as garbage. I said that I thought rats liked garbage. I was sorry to say it loud but he cleared my misunderstandings. “Evil propaganda. You label a species with some traits and everyone has to live with the shame through the generations.” He said that far from being fond of garbage, he was very choosy when it came to eating and was very “abstemious” you could say. His english was very crisp, I had to ask him to spell that out.
One day he suggested we take a walk, so I put on my shoes while he clipped his nails. We took the road less traveled to a playground which was seldom used those days. While we sat on the grass, he asked if I wanted to chew it. I was hesitating when he pulled out a few twigs and started chewing them slowly. Rolling them in his mouth, he held one of the twigs in his fingers while making a philosophical point. It all looked so good that I too pulled some and chewed. Not as much as him but I enjoyed grass eating. I could make it a hobby.
The days that followed were good and glorious and I would not have suspected anything had he not accidentally dropped a letter one day. It was very insulting and warned him not to bring vodka again. That day I realised that he was a drunkard, his tipsy walk that I took for a cultivated trait was actually a drunkard’s stagger. After saying goodbyes to me, he would pop into my father’s bar and steal drinks. I confronted him that day only to never see him again. But after few days I received a telegram that almost became my philosophy in life.
MORALITY OVERRATED STOP NIETZSCHE STOP.
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