Kurt and Dario sat at a diner. It’s the kind of diner that cable news channels find themselves in every election year to determine what real Americans think about the race.
Kurt needed to talk to Dario about something that was bothering him.
“Dario, I believe we’re living in a simulation,” Kurt said.
“What does that mean?” Dario asked.
“It means we are merely characters in someone’s giant computer game. We don’t really exist.”
“Why would they make us into a computer game?”
“Who knows?” Kurt said. “It could be that someone is just playing a game. They could be trying to solve the answer to the meaning of life, the universe and other things. It might be a joke.”
“Can I stop doing simulated dishes if that’s true?” Dario asked. “I hate washing dishes.”
“No,” Kurt said. “We must continue doing what we’re doing.”
“Okay,” Dario said. He took a drink of coffee. “Do we still have a baseball team in this town?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Kurt said. “Do you think we’re living in a simulation?”
“No.”
“Then we can’t be friends anymore. I can’t be friends with people who also don’t believe we live in a simulation.”
“But you said we can’t change anything even if we are,” Dario said. “So if it doesn’t matter, why can’t we be friends?”
“Cause then I’m a fool in your eyes,” Kurt said.
If we can’t be friends, can we still come to the diner out of respect for the simulation?”
Kurt thought about it for a minute and raised his coffee to toast Dario with a smile, “Fair enough, simulated character.”