the childhood friend remained silent as they walked along the dark street, and ralph finished his sandwich.
ralph wished he had something to wash the remainder of the sandwich down with, but he realized you could not have everything, and he held his peace as rain began to fall.
now what? ralph asked when he finished the sandwich, and carefully folded the wrapper up and put it his pocket because he did not want to be ticketed by a policeperson for littering.
i am grateful that you have fed me, and i think i answered your question about the meaning of life by reading my heartfelt poem, so i think we can go our separate ways, unless you want to buy me something else to eat, because i am still somewhat hungry, or wish to give me some money, in either of which case i would be happy to answer any more questions you might have.
why don’t we go home? the friend answered. i would like to ask you some more questions, and i would be happy to feed you, to stuff you like a christmas goose, to use a quaint old-fashioned expression that you may not be familiar with, and that i hope you do not find offensive.
i am not easily offended, ralph replied, but i do not have any food at home either. but i think we should get out of the rain, as it is starting to come down quite steadily as you may have noticed and neither of us seems to be carrying an umbrella.
ha ha, the friend replied, by home i did not mean the miserable little apartment in which i ran you to earth, but your real home, the home in which you grew up and where we played happily as lads together, the only real home you will ever have, your old kentucky home.
surely there is some mistake, ralph replied, as they approached the street on which his apartment was situated, i have never even been to kentucky and am not even sure where it is. is it in america somewhere? or in china or russia?
it’s in your heart, ralph, the friend replied. home is where the heart is.
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