Now this question was of the stuff that caused Bob to reach for his pipe. As he stuffed his Meerschaum pipe into his soft leather tobacco pouch, he muttered the question once more - to let the thought drift into the depths of his soul. "Apathy. And who cares?"
"Yes, indeed. Who cares if anyone else cares?"
After a tamping of the Middleton Cherry tobacco, Bob scratched the match across the seat of classic cut Levi's. Three deep draws of breath and the sweet, sweet smoke came to life. The puffing of tobacco always brought Bob into a deeper realm of reverie, a higher consciousness that exists in the ether of the near-divine. And for such a question as this - Bob knew that the answer who need the counsels of the gods, or at least, the demi-gods.
In the creation of a smoke ring, an act of sending holy incense heavenward, Bob caught a glimpse of the first thought demanded by the question. "Apathy? If no one truly cares, would then apathy truly exist?" The thought lingered for a few hopeful moments, but then faded, then eventually died away for lack of a second thought.
Bob re-focused and then re-entered the thoughtful realm. "Apathy. Apathy. Apathy."
Bob never returned from the thoughtful, smoky realm. He simply drifted away ... forever asking himself, "Why does no one care?"