His friends are talkers. Every single last one of them. They go on and on, talking about this or that and every once in a while pause just long enough for him to vocalize his thoughts on alien space travel, the pathetic state of today's Hollywood films or whether one can be a Buddhist and an alcoholic at the same time. But they grow impatient and soon are back on their soapboxes finally allowing him to return to politely oohing and awing with impressive precision, despite the fact that his thoughts have wandered elsewhere. Conversations bore him. But not as much as he bores himself.