The Fabric of Reality

“She grips, she grips my heart,” Andy recited passionately as the deeply introverted college intellectuals, aware (too aware for sanity’s sake) of life and enlightened to the earth’s powereful essence sipped coffee and talked reincarnation. (There were about twenty of them in all.) Andy was undoubtedly the worst of them. He had this annoying hang up with love and relationships. He thought, for some reason, that they were the meaning of life. Most there (at least the ones who had been pretty well taken care of by the marijuana) agreed, or at least nodded their heads gullibly. But I just couldn’t accept such a horrendous notion. Maybe it was the fact that I had decided to stay away from the narcotics that day. I don’t know. But I was perfectly content with the conversation I was having with a few of the guys from dorm at Harvard. Among them were Ryan “Willard” Scott, a sociology major, Higgins (We call him “Gin” for short.), a religion major--of course his life never matched up to any religion I’ve ever heard of.
The topic of discussion was, of course, Professor Collins’ lecture earlier that day in philosophy (and a bloody good one it was at that). All three of us are minoring in that field -- which particularly interests me being a psychology major. Collins had brought up in lecture the issue of reality and the relationship a “God”would have in it, or what part we play in it as gods.
“Is it the alignment of the stars or the gel in my hair that holds the fabric of reality together?” Willard was being quite serious. This worried me given the fact that he doesn’t use hair gel much less a hair brush.
“And what if...” I began to reply, but was stopped abruptly by a feminine shriek. We rushed to the back to see what the matter was. Romeo, the shop’s owner, who just happened to be gay, had just come from outside in the alley. He was routinely disposing of the garbage when he found Andy bloody and badly beaten in the dumpster. Gin got there first. By the time Willard and me got there Gin was screming out, “Call 911, call 911, he bleeding, Call 911!”