My Buddy

My buddy is a good guy.

I met my buddy at a Chinese restaurant. He was sitting on the counter. He asked if I could give him a ride. I said sure. Just let me get my fried rice.

We drive around the city.

My buddy tells me that life is suffering.

I feel ya, I say.

My buddy tells me about four noble truths.

My buddy tells me to follow an eightfold path.

My buddy tells me to let go of attachment

I nod.

We keep driving.

We see women on street corners.

We see tramps digging through trash.

We see drunk people stumbling out of bars.

We see people working the night shift.

They’re suffering, he says.

I feel ya, I say.

We drive around for a few hours. People suffer.

This is the place, he says.

I pull into the parking lot. We’re back at the Chinese restaurant.

I walk inside and put him back on the counter.

The owner yells at me.

“Sorry,” I say as I run from the restaurant.

He throws a shoe at me.