Edward Champion's Return of the Reluctant

Nineteen Suns Before Earth Hands Him to 30

-- You are not doing enough.
-- Nonsense, mofo.
-- No, you are feeling the appropriate sensations.
-- Of age?
-- More than that, padre, but that's part of the package.
-- Yes, the twenties are a waning sun soon to depart into the ocean.
-- It gets better. And so do your metaphors.
-- Easier?
-- No, but better. You're going to be laughing your ass off pretty soon over this internal monologue. A few years from now. Just as your friends have been saying. Your petty musings on owning property or having a better day job. Who the hell do you think you are? You're doing a damn good job, kiddo. You know yourself now better than most your age.
-- I got carded for beer the other night.
-- Only because you shaved.
-- Yeah, good point.
-- Now if you can just get through the next few weeks, it will be as if nothing happened.
-- Just another day?
-- Yeah. And what they don't tell you is that because you make decisions on a daily basis to get to the exact place you want to be, you're one sexy motherfucker. Robert Mitchum badass, sexy.
-- These are good things.
-- Yes, I've been trying to tell you. But you keep moping on about thumbing a lift to Minneapolis in the middle of the workweek or doing something rash. I'm not suggesting you settle down, but if you keep it up, kid, it will work out.
-- But thirty? I should be someplace better.
-- Listen, you ambitious sod, the economy sucks, but you're setting things up anyway. Just deal with it.
-- Okay. But can we chat when something else comes up?
-- Here he goes again. Okay, but no more after the day of transmutation.
-- Deal.