Dr. Galt was a tall lean man-- a staggering 6'3 stalwart figure who self-righteously wore his dual Ivy league degrees on his sleeve as proudly as his heart. By all conventional terms he was the colloquial ladies man. restless scoping eyes perpetually combed the scene for a new fuck. Ibecause of this ive regarded him as most certainly a bastard in life, and convincingly a bastard in death--because, frankly he didnt give a damn about anyone. the only time i can recall him acting as a decent human being was the day his mother, lillian died. he didnt say a word. i wouldnt have either, she was so selfish she took her own life.

he asked me one day, "Newt, why people? How is it that you can muster any inkling of care, compassion, any empathy toward that sad sick race of mutually constitutive consumers?"

"Paul, I suppose it is because of the sermon on the mount. but then again this doesnt mean that i like people. because frankly i dont. i am obligated to this damn mess we're in. apparently my anatomy wills a continued presence here, the stubborn thing. so until it stops i merely make the best of it" i said.

"that is because you are a coward newt, youre a damn coward. afraid to bite the hand that feeds, afraid to say what you really think. a real 21st century man. a real spineless wretch"

"no, i think it is because i am just tired. worn by thinking change is ever affected by anything good. conformity is just providence. no?"

Dr. Galt stood up from the table in Lula's Coffee Shop rushsed out the door towards a blonde haired woman getting into a silver buick.