The taciturn girl spoke softly to the pharmaceutical man:


"Why what?" responded the man who had nothing to fight for.

"Why is love, and why is hate? Why is war, and why is peace?" the esoteric girl spoke benignly. "One must always exist for the other. There is no peace without a memory of war, and you cannot truly love someone whom you cannot bring yourself to hate."

"It is well for you, looking into something such as this." replied the medical man. "It is as my job. I love injuries, sickness and plague. They give me business. The same is true for the coroners and the undertakers, funeral homes and coffin makers. One man's death is another man's bread."

"You avoided my question, why?" she spoke coldly, yet softly still.

"I avoided it because I cannot answer it; perhaps ask another man. I'm no philosopher, just a pharmacist."

"Very well," she said and walked out the door.