The vegan diet is obviously lacking whatever essential nutrient

Host:
The bar was dimly lit, its neon sign flickering like a heartbeat on the verge of exhaustion. Rain tapped against the windows, smearing the city’s lights into streaks of electric gold. The smell of old wood, cigarettes, and burnt coffee hung in the air, clinging to the walls like memory.

At a corner booth, Jack sat nursing a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light with the lazy glow of late-night confession. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her drink — something green, herbal, and defiant — sipping it with quiet purpose.

The jukebox hummed in the background, crooning some forgotten blues tune.

Then Jeeny looked up, her eyes glinting with mischief.

Jeeny:
(reading off her phone, lips curving in amusement)

“The vegan diet is obviously lacking whatever essential nutrient it is that makes people likeable.”
— Jim Goad

Host:
Her voice hung in the smoky air, sharp and sweet as irony itself. Jack let out a low, gruff laugh, the sound mingling with the hum of the bar.

Jack:
“Finally, someone brave enough to say what everyone’s thinking.”

Jeeny:
(raising an eyebrow)
“Which part? That sarcasm’s a food group now?”

Jack:
“No. That self-righteousness is. You’ve met them — the moral missionaries of quinoa and kale. The ones who treat steak like original sin.”

Jeeny:
(smiling faintly)
“You say that like compassion’s a crime. Maybe people who stop eating animals are just tired of being part of the cruelty factory.”

Jack:
“And maybe they just like feeling holier than thou. You ever notice it? They speak in sermons. ‘Have you tried oat milk?’ Like it’s baptism.”

Jeeny:
“And you speak in cynicism. Which, let’s be honest, is just pride disguised as realism.”

Host:
The bartender passed by, refilling Jack’s glass without being asked. The ice cubes clinked, a small, crystalline applause for human absurdity.

Jack:
“Listen, Jeeny. You can believe in kindness without turning your plate into a political manifesto. I don’t trust anyone who thinks tofu makes them enlightened.”

Jeeny:
(laughing softly)
“And I don’t trust anyone who mocks what they don’t understand. You think compassion’s weakness because you mistake numbness for strength.”

Jack:
“It’s not about numbness. It’s about honesty. We’re animals. We eat animals. It’s the natural order. Cavemen didn’t apologize to their dinner.”

Jeeny:
“And cavemen didn’t build cities or write poetry either. Maybe we’ve evolved past needing to conquer everything we can chew.”

Host:
The rain outside began to fall harder, drumming against the glass like impatient fingers. The neon sign flickered again — red, then white, then gone for a heartbeat, as if the night itself was listening.

Jack:
“You really think giving up meat makes you morally superior?”

Jeeny:
“It’s not superiority. It’s awareness. It’s realizing you don’t have to consume suffering to survive.”

Jack:
(smirking)
“Suffering’s part of life. You think your avocado’s bloodless? You think nothing dies so you can eat?”

Jeeny:
(quietly, eyes steady)
“I know everything dies. That’s exactly why I try to take less.”

Host:
The words fell between them like a stone dropped into deep water — rippling, impossible to ignore. Jack’s smirk faltered for a second, his eyes flicking toward the window.

Outside, lightning flashed, painting their faces white for a heartbeat.

Jack:
“People who talk like that always seem miserable. Like the joy’s been drained out of them along with the butter.”

Jeeny:
(smiling)
“Maybe that’s what Goad meant. That compassion’s not charming. It’s heavy. It’s the weight of seeing too much.”

Jack:
“Then maybe ignorance really is bliss.”

Jeeny:
“Or maybe empathy’s the price of consciousness.”

Host:
Her voice was calm, but there was a shimmer beneath it — the tremor of conviction held in restraint. The light above their booth flickered once, twice, as if uncertain whether to stay alive.

Jack:
“Still, there’s something in what he said. You ever notice how some vegans talk like the rest of us are barbarians? Like they’ve ascended to moral heaven on a lentil cloud.”

Jeeny:
“Some do. But that’s not because of the diet. That’s because of ego — the same one that makes you mock them. The ego’s a chameleon, Jack. It wears fur coats and hemp robes alike.”

Host:
For a long moment, neither spoke. The bar hummed with life around them — conversations rising and falling like waves, glasses clinking like distant wind chimes.

Jack:
(quietly)
“You ever think about why people care so much about what others eat?”

Jeeny:
“Because food is identity. It’s tribe. What you eat says who you belong to — and who you refuse to be.”

Jack:
“So veganism’s not just diet, it’s declaration.”

Jeeny:
“Exactly. But so is meat. Both are languages of belonging. One says, ‘I consume to live.’ The other says, ‘I live to consume less.’”

Host:
The rain softened again, its rhythm now slow and contemplative. Jack stared into his whiskey, the amber surface trembling with each drop of sound.

Jack:
“You know, maybe Goad wasn’t wrong — maybe cutting out animal fat also cuts out something human. We’re primal creatures trying too hard to be saints.”

Jeeny:
“And maybe cruelty is what we mistook for humanity all along.”

Host:
She said it softly, almost to herself, her eyes following the trail of rain down the glass — each droplet sliding toward the inevitable fall.

Jack:
“You think compassion’s evolution. I think it’s theater. But I’ll admit — it’s a theater I sometimes wish I could believe in.”

Jeeny:
(smiling sadly)
“Belief doesn’t require perfection. Just sincerity. Even one less cruelty is still less darkness in the world.”

Host:
The bar light dimmed further. Outside, a distant thunder rolled across the horizon — low, tired, infinite.

Jack:
(half-smiling)
“You make me sound like the villain in a salad commercial.”

Jeeny:
“No. Just human — hungry, flawed, and trying to feel alive.”

Host:
They both laughed softly — not mockery, not agreement — just the sound of two souls finding warmth in difference.

Jack pushed his whiskey aside. Jeeny, noticing, raised her glass slightly.

Jeeny:
“To whatever essential nutrient makes people likeable.”

Jack:
“Let’s hope it’s still in whiskey.”

Jeeny:
“Or empathy.”

Host:
They clinked glasses. The sound was small but pure — like a heartbeat remembering itself.

Outside, the rain stopped. The neon light steadied. The night held still for one perfect, fragile moment — as if even the world had decided that contradiction could be beautiful, and laughter, in its gentlest form, the truest form of nourishment.