"There is no evidence to religion," Tret was telling Boj when he woke from his short morning nap. "You could stop being always the victim if you could just stop believing all that nonsense your great grandfather, may you rest him in peace, used to tell you."
"You can't have logic without evidence," he added.
"You are a horrible hypocrite," Boj told him and spat.
"How so am I the hypocrite?" Tret snapped back and spat at the spot where his friend spat.
"I am not even religious," he added and spat over his own spit.
"Ah, again, with the not religious. Religious you don't have to be to be a hypocrite," Boj spat and spat.
"Well, it helps," Tret snorted but this time refused even to spit.
"Yes, to fail at belief requires one first believe," Boj answered. "Better to believe and fail and know why you fail."
"You can believe and not believe in God," Tret shot back. "What, you will pardon my asking, do I miss because I don't think sacred is real?"
"What miss?" Boj shot back. "You miss thinking. You miss every question that starts where your answers stop. What miss?"
"I don't blame my miss on anyone but me. You have this Sacred Monster who gambles with your existence, who takes lives, who squanders riches, all to see if you will continue to breathe his fire," Tret discovered he meant his polemic now. "I have random pain. Your pain your God brings you."
"And then you have to share it with me, so I can feel the dragon's breath, me, who doesn't even believe in the Monster," he added and, of course, for good measure, let fly again.
"You know the argument," Boj shot back. "The very fact you know to argue means you believe or want to believe."
"As arguments go, that one is specious," Tret spat.
" This thing you don't want, this Sacred Monster, to find it is deductive. It is deductive knowledge. Every premise can be false, to take me to a false conclusion and yet be perfectly logical," Boj was showing his education now. He spat, for good measure.
"Your God you don't follow from logic. You would be insane to follow your God from logic," Tret knew immediately he had gone too far now. He settled back in his chair, sheepish, timorous.
"Yes, I have been called crazy," Boj whispered.
"She called me crazy," he muttered. "When she thought I should just go down and die. She told me I was crazy to go on."
They were both out of spit.
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