Socrates added a tablespoon of heavy cream to his bowl of oatmeal. The warm mush was already overburdened with brown sugar and blueberries. He loved a warm breakfast that assaulted his tongue with the duality of the sweet and sour of sugar and berry. The erstwhile philosopher brought a heavily loaded tablespoon to his mouth, blew on it gingerly and slowly slurped the mush off.
“Oh my fucking god,” he said. “I love a big bowl of Quaker Oats in the morning.”
He loaded up his spoon and repeated his breakfast orgy.
“I could happily spend the rest of my life being a Quaker.”
Br. Ezra shook his head. “You realize that the Religious Society of Friends had nothing to do with Quaker Oats. It was a marketing gimmick designed to make people trust the cereal and think it wholesome.
“Well, I’m not really a pacifist either,” Socrates replied. “Sometimes I think violence is a necessary catalyst to affect social change.”
Br. Ezra blinked rapidly like a punch drunk pugilist. Life just assaults you that way sometimes.
“I’m just saying is all.”