"A penny for your thoughts."

The young man on the bench did not peer upward in an attempt to make out the other's face. He knew who was there. "Do others exist outside our senses? Do we truly feel beyond our consciousnesses? How would I know if I was just stimuli in a jar?"

"Deep thoughts for one so young," the voice returned.

Sighing, the young man continued to contemplate the shining, wet cobblestone of the Texan streets. "What is even the meaning of it all?"

"You don't want me to answer that. I've never been any good at philosophy," the other said.

The man scoffed, shaking his head. "You were only top in your class."

"Perhaps I just told you that to convince you to give me mind."

"You could kick my butt in a philosophical debate if you wanted to."

"Do I want to?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"Ultimately, even if we are just stimuli, does it make a difference in our daily lives? Are we going to imagine ourselves into a better place? You call me a philosopher, but I call myself a realist."

The young man studied the scuff marks on his boot tip before finally meeting the other's eyes. He hoped his expression did not show how miserable he felt inside.

"Get up off that bench," she said, voice kinder this time. "These thoughts will never leave you," she continued, watching as the man jumped. She smiled privately to herself, knowing she must have read his mind. "But they will relax for the moment. Come, join me for supper, and we can drown them with wine."

Reaching a hand down to the one on the bench, the other lifted him up, and walked with him away. Neither touched each other, but the young man almost seemed to lean gratefully on the woman.