I don't care I'm eating it anyway

The man sat.
He tended to do this, at length. He is just being... in the room.
Stoic, one might surmise or merely saturated by the desire for un-change.
How can something so still, be alarming?
Thought 1: When tragedy befalls us; why is it that we act as though what is said by those left behind will somehow carry on memories into history? At the scene of great tragedy actions are surely remembered more clearly?
Thought 2: Getting through a crisis; 'If you change nothing - nothing changes'.
Thought 3: If you buy it all:
the popouri (?!)
the cakes and celebrations
the job-you-never-liked-but-convinced-yourself-you-needed-anyway
the inevitable bank loan
the car
these to-the-minute sunglasses; watch, food processor, i-phone.
…
...this will never occur to you on a sunny Saturday afternoon, having eaten more than your fill of barbequed meats and finished reading the country's best tabloids; had you saved 'til you barely ate cheese on toast - you could be cruising as a tourist around a continent who's economic stability is based on the very currency you'd be under-spending at a locally-owned shop.
You could be living an adventure paid for by the inane toils of your adult life.
I digress.
The man sits. At the minute; just run of the mill sitting.
To me this is nothing short of astounding. I'm constantly distracted. I am constantly prompted by improbable reasoning into action.
This ability of his to sit back, observe and understand - or give the impression of not needing to alter circumstance, ever - incredible.
He sits.
'You're just sitting'
'Yes' he says
'Again'
'Yes'
'I want you to do something'
'And what would that be?'
'I don't know' I say.
Anything. Something. The frustration pains me. Why do I care? I don't say that. I don't say anything.
He sits.
I fidget.
Finally I ask him to say random numbers. It bridges the space between us into a semblance of comfortable conversational banter.

'86'

I smile

More than three minutes pass. I should turn on the radio. I shuffle my feet.
'54'
It is as though a weight has lifted. I don't understand why it should mean so much.
I am blissfully happy.
'Thank you' I say and kiss him
'Nay problem' he says with a belly laugh. We fall back into silence and I feel the tumour of my discontent begin to seed.
The silence thickens
'34' he says, after about ten minutes and with little certainty.
My relief is palpable.