The piece of gum in your mouth has lost flavor, as is the inevitable fate of all gum of the world of men. You retrieve an old receipt from your pocket, spit the gum into the paper, and toss both in a crumpled wad into the trash can under your desk.
You reach for the 100-pack plastic jar of gum that rests next to your phone, pop the plastic dispenser lid with a flick of your thumb, and upend the jar above your waiting palm. Nothing falls from the jar. Frustrated, you shake the jar. Nothing comes.
The jar is empty. You are out of gum. Without the constant soft and sticky distraction of chewing gum, the cold, bleak reality of the direness of the human condition creeps back into your mind. Your head is filled with the lamentations of the billions of human lives on the planet crying out for meaning and purpose that will never come. “Feed us,” cry some. “Save us,” demand others. “End our suffering,” beg those at the end of their threshold for the torment of existence, “let us die.”
You remember you have an extra pack of gum in your drawer. You grab a piece of delicious spearmint and play Candy Crush.