There's no need to strain your imagination — it's a Burger King in the northwest. It's summer out, hot, humid, but cloudy. The building's brick, and over-air conditioned.

He's not handsome — a healthy body, well-kept teeth and hair — but he's striking. Even though he seems preoccupied, he stands with a confident ease that makes it hard to decide his age.

She's standing behind the counter, shyly looking at him looking at the menu. She's tall, skinny to the point of being lanky, and she's wearing a burger-flipping baseball cap that would have embarrassed someone less habitually embarrassed.

He orders something greasy and fried, and she fumbles with the register. He smiles and thanks her before taking his receipt. He waits only a moment before his food is ready, and sits down.

She's blushing. There's a whispered conversation with her coworkers, and some giggling. She takes off the hat as her friends shove her out from behind the register and through the 'Employees Only' door.

She grabs a rag and begins to wipe the table next to his booth, slowly, shy, watching him unwrap his burger and begin to eat. He talks silently to himself in between bites.

"No need to clean — you're on break!" one of her coworkers hoots, and the crew tries to hide their laughter.

She sighs, shrugs, takes a deep breath and says, "Hi."

He raises his eyebrows, but smiles warmly. "Hello!"

"Can I — do you mind if I sit down?"

"Sure, pull up a chair," he says. His eyes wander to her name tag, but she blushes and reaches to cover it with a hand. She scrapes up a chair, and he stands briefly until she sits.

"My. Uh." She visibly commits herself to her task, and then the words poured quickly out. "My break isn't very long — but I was wondering if maybe —"

"Oh, no." He doesn't let her get one word further. "No no no no no. No you don't. None of that."

She takes in a little breath, and bites her lip.

"Nothing against you, I mean. It's just that there's the universe to think of."

Her eyes continue to tear up, but she frowns in confusion rather than pain.

"Ugh. Fine. Look at it this way: you and I, we could hook up. We could be very happy together. But," and her eyes fall, and he grabs her hands in his, and he leans forward, and he waits until she looks up again. "But, that's just a condition, right?"

She half-nods.

"A condition — it only describes a little tiny part of the whole universe. I mean, you and I could be in love and have kids and be very happy — while meanwhile there's a billion rapes or the next day a nuclear war or something. I can't just go imagining the two of use being together; it leaves out too much of the big picture."

"You... you think I'd cause a nuclear war?"

"No, no. Probably not.” Pause. “Maybe." He takes a breath. "Look, it's nothing against you. You're very beautiful, probably, and intelligent, as far as I know, and you might be funny when you're not trying not to cry.

"But as soon as I start caring about you, caring for you, loving you — then I'm thinking about conditions — is there enough money, are you happy, are you well. Tiny things. It's so easy to worry more about your happiness then the whole picture."

"How," she said, sniffling, "can you think about the whole universe at once?"

"Ha!" His laugh startles her. "I can't. Brains're too small to hold it all,” he taps his temple. “So I cheat.” He takes a bite of his burger and talks telegraphically around it. "Gotta invent values; gotta make sure they apply to rocks and stars as well as people. Gotta decide what makes the universe good. Make more of it." He swallows and pauses.

"What makes the universe good?" she prompts, trying her best to be seductive.

"No, there you go again. Stop it.” He shakes his finger at her. “What makes the universe good? You have to decide yourself. I can give you my method though. You ever daydream?"

She nods warily.

"So when you daydream, try and invent a universe that you wish existed instead of this one. Someplace so wonderful you'd give up everything you have to be there instead."

She looks at the ceiling. "What, like, my family is happy and rich and loves me, nobody ever gets sick or dies, I've got a hot boyfriend—" she winked.

"No, no, those are still conditions — and stop it — think universally! How about this: try the same task, invent a better universe — but you don't get to be a part of it. Not you, or anyone you know. They all wink out of existence as soon as you make the choice that you prefer your invention to reality."

"Hmm. I'm not sure there is such a place — even an imaginary one."

"Aw, c'mon. Would you have let your family die — peacefully, as if they'd never existed — to prevent the holocaust?"

She thinks for a moment, but he doesn't wait for an answer.

"What about to make it so that no genocide would ever occur, anywhere?"

"I—" she starts.

"Anyway, do that. Then do it again — but you're not allowed to keep any of the conditions of the first one. If you invented a beautiful forest eternally flaming, or rocks that sing songs of the ancient hot times, or whatever — now you're not allowed to even think of them. Start from scratch, avoiding your previous trails."

"And then what?"

"Do it again, and again. Keep starting over. Keep restricting yourself."

"Until?" she asks.

"Until you get a feeling for values."

"Values?"

"Conditions are specific, they talk about some set of circumstances locally. Values are a sense of qualities that you approve of in the universe as a whole, and how those qualities balance against each other."

"Like what?"

"Well, like beauty, or complexity, order, chaos, self-replication, introspection, self-awareness, consciousness, surprise. That sort of thing. You can strive to heighten values no matter what the current conditions; if you're alone in a desert and dying, or right at this moment."

"So, if you're so noble, are you eating a double whopper for the sake of the universe? What value is heightened by eating two beef patties and a mediocre tomato?"

"Well that's just my whole point, isn't it? It's hard enough just being incarnate! This body makes it so easy to think, 'Oh, one little treat — one little condition — it'll give me the strength to continue. I need it, you know?' I think I need it, I convince myself of it. It's all such an inconvenient distraction. How much harder do you think it is when it's not just my body — when there's someone else's cravings and imaginary needs to blind me to what needs to be done?"

He finishes his burger, and balls up the wrapper between his hands.

"So you're not going to give me your number because if you fell in love with me it would be harder to ignore conditions — to invent universes you'd rather have than this one?"

"Yes, more or less."

"And you're sure that ignoring my advances advances your values?"

"Well, that's where it all falls apart, of course. I haven't worked out the details yet." He shrugs, turns, and walks through the automatic door. "Stupid ugly bitch," he mutters as it slides closed.

Her jaw clenches, but then she relaxes, and smiles sadly. She knows why he said it. And she laughs, as she replaces her stupid hat, because she's just realized he's wrong.