Andy was pacing around frantically with an oversized Coca-cola bottle and shaking his head for a few moments before noticing my presence.
"Oh dear Moni," Andy exclaimed, "you look so parched. Would you care for a coke? It's simply the drink of the masses, rich or poor!"
Shrugging nonchalantly to indicate my uncertainty over thirst launches him into a rant...
"Moni, my dear, what is great about our country America is the tradition where the rich buy essentially the same things as the poor. You can watch TV and see Coca Cola, and you know that the President drinks Coca Cola, Liz Taylor drinks Coca Cola, and just think, you can drink Coca Cola, too. A coke is a coke and no amount of money can get you a better coke than the one the bum on the corner is drinking. All the cokes are the same and all the cokes are good. Liz Taylor knows it, the President knows it, the bum knows it, and you know it."
As he stops to catch his breathe, I yawn and roll my eyes. Catching my eyes before I can turn away he postures again...
"Would you like a Coca Cola?"
With a shrug, I say why not?
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