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so,” Sean said. “I’m not saying he’s my father. I’m just saying it’s the natural law—fathers creating their sons in their own image. It’s a Judeo-Christian archetype. You seeit in the cathedral, as well as on the Little League baseball diamond. You see it every day at Wharton.” He hit me on the shoulder. “So when you finish here, is that the next act? Going home to mind the family store?”
    “That’s what my father wants.” I felt infantile saying that.
    “What do
you
want?”
    I slowly shook my head. “I’m not sure anymore.”
    Sean leaned close. “That’s a dangerous place to be, my friend. The undecided get swept away by the momentum of the decided. I can see it now, you’ll graduate from Wharton, then go back to the desert, settle down with the little woman, plant a garden in the graveyard out back and watch yourself grow fat and arthritic on a domestic death march.”
    “That’s how it goes?” I said, annoyed by his cynicism.
    “Far as I can see. People don’t really live longer these days, they just die slower. We’ve traded the American dream for a charge card at the local Home Depot. What a crock.”
    “What are your plans when you graduate?”
    “My plans,” he said. “Marshall, Lucy and I are going to get drunk in seven countries.”
    “Why seven?”
    “It’s my lucky number,” he said. “I figure by that point I’ll have vomited up all the crap they’ve forced down my throat the last eighteen years of American capitalist indoctrination. Then I’m going to just get drunk for the sheer debauchery of it.” He looked at me. “You should come with us. You’ve got plenty of time to die the slow death.”
    “You’re dismal tonight.”
    “Come with us.”
    “I have Candace.”
    “Bring her. Show her life before she gives birth to creatures she loves more than you and you’re relegated to the status of beast of burden.”
    “You are past dismal.”
    “You know I’m telling the truth. Give life a chance.”
    “You sound like an infomercial for Hedonists International,” I said. “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we may die.”
    “There’s no ‘may’ about it. Tomorrow we
will
die.” He pointed at me with the hand holding his can. “The only real sin that exists in this life is the waste of possibility. The rest of our sins are just part of the learning curve. God, if there is such a thing, rejoices in our passion. It’s the lukewarm He spits from His mouth. You can read it in the Bible.” Sean leaned in close. “I know you, Luke. You’re special. Marshall and Lucy may talk like freethinkers, but they’re not. In the end, you’ll find them washed up on the beach of circumstance with the rest of the conformists. But you, my friend, have the potential of doing something spectacular with your allotted time—to be a beacon of hope to the yoked, desperate masses, a light on the hill of possibility. You owe it to the world.”
    I laughed at his flattery. “I have nothing to offer the world.”
    Sean’s expression turned serious. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that. Don’t sell your soul to the devils of obscurity. What about
your
dreams? Do you even know what they are anymore?”
    I didn’t answer, which I suppose was an answer in itself.
    He slowly shook his head. “The world is yours, Luke. At least check it out before you throw it away.”
    I stood. “I’m going to bed,” I said.
    Sean just stared at me. “Think about coming with us. Just think about it.”

CHAPTER
Eleven
    As a species we care less about the truth than our agendas.
We really don’t want to know the truth. We must not.
Why else would we work so hard to hide from it?
    Luke Crisp’s Diary

    Drinking wasn’t my only new vice. Sean was a self-proclaimed “chick magnet,” which, from my observation, seemed to be true. For whatever reason, women flocked to him and he was always willing to share from his excess. At first I refused his offers, citing my loyalty to Candace,