"I don't like places that are too hot," my high-school classmate once said to me. "I prefer places like Canada, where you can see and feel the passing of the seasons. Spring, summer, fall, and winter are clearly experienced. You know which season is which. Not the same green foliage all year round."
I didn't know if he was joking or serious. Why was he telling me to begin with? I had not asked him a damn thing about his climactic preferences, but here he was offering his opinion. I felt my face grow warm, as it usually does in awkward social situations. Who doesn't like warm climates without bitter-cold winters? Was he mad? Was he pulling my leg?
"I don't mind the warm weather," I said.
"Not me!" he retorted passionately as if I had just questioned his preferences. "I like seeing the leaves fall in autumn! The snow in winter! The flowers in spring! Feel the heat in summer!"
"That's crazy, dude. Everybody is different, I guess."
He leaned back on his chair and smiled satisfactorily with a sly look, as if he had won an argument.
I never hung out with that guy and didn't really know him. But now every fall, I remember that odd conversation I had with him.
Like what the hell, dude?
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