They stand with me, but I don’t see them.

I don’t acknowledge them. I look ahead. To the thrill. To the joy to come. Look at them, in their outfits, their frail, temporary bodies harboring brains that craft myths to cope in the world. Look at them, childhood problems laid bare. Look at them, autonomous beings slaves to their own issues, their tortured memories, the meaningless search for meaning in an existence whose goals are to reproduce and die.

Look at them, the sick, the weak, the pathetic, inviting me to take their hands and dance. Encouraging me to join the crowd, admit that I know all that is force-fed to me and dance. They want me to dance. To smile. To laugh. To think like them. To be like them.

They have marketing on their side. The money. The dollar. The bottom line.

Here. I’m already here and the clock nears noon. It might as well near midnight. It might as well stop working and die. The end result of all things. I know this. Do they know this? They must. Why else do they seek pleasure?

Temporary pleasure relieves never-ending pain.

They disperse into their temporary pleasure. I step up. My God, it’s almost here. Coming … coming … here … here … here…

And then it’s gone, to return shortly.

Outside the shop, the line runs long. The tired. The depressed. The weak. The addicted, they all come here to seek a hit. I do. We all do. Temporary pleasure relieves never-ending pain.

I know what they are. They don’t. Junkies. Pill poppers. Addicts seeking a hit from the pusher man.

Millions here. Millions across the world. It’s an infection. Consumerism: a pandemic with a 100 percent fatality rate.

You order. You have it tailor-made to your personal preferences. As they do. You will not be arrested for coming back, day after day, and paying whatever they ask.

Whatever they ask. No price is too much to deny your high.

I listen to her order. A non-fat mocha latte with sugar-free syrup, extra whip cream. You precious little thing. Can’t handle the real juice? Me? I take it raw. As raw as possible. Piping hot and black. Spare your additives. Save that for the weak. Save that for the uninitiated.

Save that for those in denial.

I know what I am. I am an addict. My addictions control my life. The dollar yearns, it draws, it seduces, and I am a pawn. I know this. I embrace it. They do as well. The ones on the streets. The ones who take their unpopular addiction in private while we take ours in public. Sobbing specters in dark shades of hell.

Handcuffs find them. Cells and treatment centers help them. Us? No one helps us. They encourage us. Push us. We obey. Temporary pleasure relieves never-ending pain.

I drink and study. I study and drink. Money wasted on classes that bore me. Money wasted on material that fills me with no knowledge. Never mind. Just smile and buy and drink and smile some more. The less you think, the happier you’ll be. Go on. Try it. And while you’re at it, try some products as well. You seek happiness? We got it.

But it’ll cost you. It’ll cost whatever we want. You have a price. We name it.

To those that think — ostracize them. We hate them. Their independence reminds us that we’re servants. We don’t like that. We think of ourselves as special. We’re all special. That’s what they tell us so it must be true.

Drink. I drink it all.

Find solace in what they tell you. Find solace in a manmade government with no legitimacy. Find solace in fairy tales someone made up to keep people under control. Find solace in the myths.

Embrace them and smile. And buy. Buy it all. Buy and seek your pleasure.

Temporary pleasure relieves never-ending pain.

I find solace in what I am. I know. Like them, I am an addict. Illegitimate laws cannot harm me thanks to my habit. I drink and drink and put the cup down.

After a while, I drink some more. Ice cubes spawned in a glaze of truth. The taste hits me. It throttles me. Cold. Cold and nasty. The substance in here is nasty. Why? Why do I do this? I look at it.

The ones imprisoned. The ones society hates. They know something I don’t. Some truth I cannot grasp, but perhaps inside this cup, it lurks, waiting to be discovered.

But wait…

Here they are, gathered round, pitchforks ready. Dare I be an individual? They invite me to dance. I grab the cup. I warm it up and drink. It’s better to dance with others than dance alone in futility.

Temporary pleasure relieves never-ending pain.

— Travis Lee is a senior in French. He can be reached at [email protected].