Vita: A cup of lemonade, mister? Fifty pence a cup, and with the how weather I'm sure it's well worth it.
Albert: A fair worth, little miss, I suppose I will buy one. The sun's blaze and the rain's coolness seem more in dissonance than in harmony as of recent.
Vita: Indeed, these days people feel more up and down too. You think so?
Albert: Definitely.
Vita: And it seems that mister, you yourself are amongst the crowd in feeling as such, aren't you?
Albert: ...haha, is it that obvious? Well then, little miss, any piece of advice for this poor ol' man here?
Vita: Hmm. Do you believe in God, mister?
Albert: Not nearly as much as He would want me to.
Vita: It really was more of a random question, actually. What would you do if God gave you lemons?
Albert: Well, I dunno. 's there a good answer to that? God gave you lemons and not sweet apples, so that's how it is, right?
Vita: No doubt, I guess. But still, there're those who say that they'll make lemonade out of the lemons. There're those that say to plant the seeds in the ground and make a enterprise out of it. There're those that say to go and find apples by yourself. There're those that say that they'll make apple juice and have everyone figure out how the hell they do it. Then there're those who say that they'll go find a new God.
Albert: That's new. Finding a new God?
Vita: Haven't heard anyone successfully doing so, though. All they get stuck with in the end is tired feet and untouched lemons. Here's another thing then. How's this cup of lemonade seem to you? How much does it hold?
Albert: Half empty?
Vita: A pessimistic one, aren't you? The sort who thinks that it ain't good 'cause it's only at the halfway mark. Half of it is gone. In some cases maybe more, since the mouth is usually wider than the base, too! But that's no reason to treat it as a bad drink, is it? I'd be pretty depressed if my customers threw my drinks away because of that.
Albert: What would you suggest then, little miss psychiatrist?
Vita: Top it up with a small ice cube, of course. Still half empty, isn't it? You aren't going to drink the ice anyway; well, at least you don't seem the type. Yet it seems more full, and it tastes more refreshing in the end. An illusion, you might say. True on some cases, But I doubt it can be considered such a bad thing. It's up to you to find such stuff, isn't it? 'course, that's if you see it half empty, of course. Drink it up. Isn't it refreshing?
Albert: Given the weather, why wouldn't it?
Vita: Haha, that's true. Now look at this other cup, then. What do you see it as? Still half empty?
Albert: Well, what if I saw it as half full, then?
Vita: I doubt it'd be much of an issue there, would it? A half full cup is a good cup in any case. But that breeds a sense of idleness. All's right with the cup, you say. It's half-full, after all. Then you drink it and find that to your surprise half the cup's worth was missing! Reality's a bastard; half full or half empty it's a half anyway. Tricking yourself into thinking it's more without any actual action on your part is just asking to get mocked at by fate.
Albert: What would you suggest I do, then
Vita: You see the half cup's worth of lemonade? What did you think of it? Half full? Half empty? Think of it as both half full and half empty. You get a full cup that way.
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Severe need to rewrite the ending properly bugger you midnight
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