I just went to the Double T Diner with Jeff. I wish I could explain this better than I can, but I don't really understand it. He asked me last night if I wanted to go to the diner, and when I asked him why, he said, "Because I'm hungry." I didn't go, because I had things to do. Tonight he asked me again if I wanted to go to the diner, or more properly went through his routine. I was listening to music and chatting with Anne when he tapped my shoulder. I looked over at him standing there in the black button down shirt I helped him pick out, twisting his back so that his chest was concave, perhaps because he thinks this looks somehow impressive, and smiling as though we had a shared secret, but he knew a bit more of the secret than I. "I'm hungry," he said. I told him to wait, because I was talking to Anne, and because Eric was supposed to call from New York and I wanted to be here to answer it. Anne went to bed, and it became so late that I could reasonably expect that Eric wouldn't call, so I went over to the couch, where Jeff was stretched out lazily, watching The Colbert Report. I told him I would go if he still wanted to, but since going to the Double T is generally such a bad experience, I asked him why he wanted to go.

"I'm hungry."
"And there's nothing to eat in the house?"
"Is there anything to eat in the house?"
"Would I know?"
"--."
"--."
"Well, do you want to go?"
"I'll go, but I don't see why you want to go to the diner."

Then he went into his room to put on his socks. I followed him and said, "If there's nothing in the house, why don't you go to the grocery store?"
"The grocery store, eh? What should I get at the grocery store?"
"Something to eat. I don't care. But the diner is expensive, and the food isn't any good. Why do you want to go?"
"I like the diner." Then he asked, "do you want to go to the diner?"
"Not particularly, but I'll go with you if you want to go."
"Should I go to the grocery store?"
"Do whatever you want."

We went upstairs, and I put my shoes on. Then we walked up the driveway. The sky was black and vast. The humidity and insect noise made the world feel like a movie set. We got to the street and Jeff asked, "which car are we taking?"
"Make a decision!" I cried at him. We took his car, and he drove to the end of the street and turned left, toward 40 East and the Double T. "I just don't see why you don't get food at a grocery store, but if you want to go to the diner, that's fine."
"Should I go to the grocery store? I could still go to the grocery store." He pulled up to the light and got into the middle lane, which would allow him to turn left toward the supermarket and not right toward the diner.
"It's up to you! I have no part in this decision. I'm just going with you because you want company."
He thought for a few seconds and said happily, "I'm going to the diner." Then he made a right turn from a left turning lane (at 10:50 in Ellicott City, so there weren't any other cars on the road), and drove to the Double T.

I took the opportunity to preach to him, which is usually what I do when I go with him to the diner. I explained how he's lazy, and can only live the way he does because our parents take care of his needs even though he doesn't at all appreciate it. I talked about how video games for him are an escape from his meaningless life. I suggested that he go to a career counselor, and that he think about himself and his situation more.

We got to the diner and sat in the non-smoking section, in a booth across from a silent black man and behind a table of three fat people. The fat person facing me was dressed in a red and black checkered shirt and a wide-brimmed straw hat. I think he wanted to look like a riverboat gambler. We ordered, and I continued to preach to Jeff until the waitress brought our food. By the time it came, I ran out of things to say, so mostly I ate my egg and cheese sandwich and watched him in consternation. I don't understand how my brother turned out so differently from me. I see nothing of myself in him. I see no way of explaining to him the basic truths of his life, of all life. We exist randomly, and have to find our own purpose. We are each alone, and without interaction we are blank things. We exist in time, and if that time is under our own control, we would do best to figure out how to use it well.

He ate a chicken salad sandwich and french fries, and when he was done, he paid his bill with money he has saved up for no purpose. Looking around the diner, he said to me, "Why do you think it is that I don't like other people?"