Dangerous

You couldn't kill me, come, come.

Bang-bang.

You're not the type.

I'm the type that belong to all the rest, including you.

Yes, but think ahead – could you really imagine living a world after pulling that trigger? The implications; the full meaning of it all?

I can't that imagine world, not fully; at least not in every detail. The "not fully" clause implies that I can at least make some approximations, say, like the world won't end, but it would for you; you can't imagine that world because you wouldn't be there to do it. It's not that can't do this from lack of imagination, it's impossible; it's unintelligible. Your efforts to do otherwise are futile and meaningless though, I guess, not entirely meaningless in that we can try to make sense of things we can't explain while we can. Think: if we were to rationalised everything, explain it and place it securely with the grand scheme, what joy would there be in it? There's no mystery; there's no hope because there's no “don't know?”. So, now you tell me: do you know with any certainty I won't pull the trigger? Is that a risk you're willing to take? If so, I respect that.

Okay you win, you win. Well played. Lucky for you I'm your smarter-than-average law-breaker. I'm putting it down, slowly, on the table – see my hands? Slow movements. Very slow movements.

I forgot to mention the flip-side. The less you know – including what you think you know but, in fact, don't – the more dangerous it gets. Roll on dark ages.

Would you really have shot me?

I still might.

Why?

You're dangerous. You think you know more than you do and I don't.

You talk too much; I'd kill you already.

Yeah, so do you but for different reasons.