And why? Well, why boil everything down? Logically, the properties of boiling should hold true for everything, that when you boil anything down too far, it will lose its taste.
Instead, Allister chewed. One by one, chewing each piece together, until the gum bent in its elastic breakdown, and thought of what the one month of rent really was, paper and metal. And when the gum was at its most pliable, Allister wadded it into the front of his mouth and blew into it. And he thought of the paper and the metal and the yellowing and the corroding, and wondered, "where is the logic in wealth?"
He let his breathe fill the gummy skin of the bubble, let it carry him up and away, let him float in the sky. And he sang a lullaby to himself that he vaguely remembered hearing. He could not remember from whom, but he could logically assume it was from the voice of his mother or father:
Rest my dear.
Close your eyes.
And know,
That if the night should
Take all the stars,
We'd still have the moon.
For-
Some who are given lemons,
Will make lemonade.
But, you and I,
We'll learn to juggle.
And we'll juggle lemons
Until it all makes sense.