There once was a man named Gerald. Gerald was a quiet man, a man who always wore mismatched socks and had an unnatural obsession with pencils. Every morning, Gerald would walk to the corner store, the same corner store, at the same time, to buy a single banana. He didn’t eat the banana; no, that would be too simple. He simply held it in his left hand and stared at it for the duration of the walk back to his apartment.

One day, Gerald noticed that the banana was a little riper than usual. A strange thought crossed his mind—“What if I just peeled it? Just once, to see what happens.” But no, that would break the routine. And routine, as we know, is the only thing that kept Gerald from wondering too much about life. So he kept walking, the banana in his hand, thinking about peeling it, but never actually doing so.

On the way back, Gerald passed a small park where a pigeon was sitting on a bench. The pigeon looked at Gerald, but Gerald didn’t acknowledge the pigeon. He had no reason to. The pigeon, however, seemed to be having an existential crisis. It stared into the sky as if it were pondering the meaning of its own existence. But it never spoke. It just sat there. Gerald didn’t look at the pigeon. He never did.

As Gerald continued his walk, he passed an old man sitting outside a café, drinking coffee. The old man looked at Gerald and nodded slightly, but Gerald didn’t nod back. He simply stared ahead, deep in thought. Maybe it was about the banana. Maybe it wasn’t. Gerald had no idea. He had never thought about the old man before. And the old man never thought about Gerald.

Eventually, Gerald reached his apartment building. He walked up the stairs to his third-floor apartment, took off his shoes, placed them in the exact spot they always went, and sat down on the couch. The banana, of course, was still in his left hand. He didn’t know why he was holding it. He didn’t know why he’d bought it in the first place.

And so, Gerald sat there, looking at the banana, and the world outside his window passed by in a blur. He never peeled the banana. And that, dear reader, is where Gerald’s story ends—at the same place it began.

Because sometimes, the journey doesn’t matter. The banana doesn’t matter. Gerald doesn’t matter. None of it really does. But that’s okay, because you’re still here. You’ve read all of this, for reasons I can’t explain. And in the end, maybe that’s the point.