An Apocalypse on the Installment Plan
The real test of human morality
One night many years ago I wandered into a local bar for a drink. As I walked in, I spotted an old schoolmate of mine named George. He was sitting at the end of the bar, and as I walked in, our eyes met. I waved, and after ordering a glass of beer, slowly made my way toward the barstool he was perched on. It had been several years since we last saw each other, and we spent an hour or so sitting at the bar getting caught up on things. George was kind of a character, and talking with him was nothing if not entertaining.
We drank a few beers together and talked about old times. From what I could tell, he hadn’t changed much. He was still single, sporadically employed, and an expert on everything that needed an expert.
Before we knew it, it was almost 1 a.m. and the bar would be closing, but neither of us wanted to go home just yet. I suggested buying a six-pack of beer and continuing our conversation in my car. George went along with the suggestion, and before long the two of us were sitting in my car parked on a side street, drinking another beer that neither of us really needed.
George took a long drink of his beer, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and turned toward me. Then he said this.
