“The universe only has about fifty truly perfect things in it, among them are: the rebladcolor paintings of Ben V’k'aa’blaa of Thebes-15; the film ‘Harold & Maude;’ the songs the mothers of Jaxon S-12 communally sing to their children in 56-part harmony at the birthing time; and that barista’s chai.”

Jerry heard this phrase clearly. Just as clearly as he knew he had not uttered it.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

The Dude strode through the ur-reality swirling around Jerry, “Never did order the chai, did you, bud? Always with the coffee snobbery…”

Shaking his head, Jerry said, “How did you get here?”

The Dude continued, “You’re so far up your own ass that you’re asking the wrong questions. Not ‘Who?’ or ‘How?’ but ‘What?’ is what you should be asking. And what you have got is a whole lot of what: dimensions, cross-dimensions, planets, time portals and assorted other geegaws. You have a series of Earths so infinite and varied that not even the cloned mutant bastard child of Stephen Hawking, Carl Sagan, Neil DeGrasse Tyson, and Richard Feynman could comprehend or order them all. By the way, that cloned mutant bastard child exists on Earth-765 Beta Prime. Nice guy. His name’s Cliff.”

“Cliff,” Jerry repeated, but the Dude continued without listening.

“Smart as Cliff is, and trust me, Jerry, he’s sixteen nonagonal parsecs smarter than you, he wouldn’t have the slightest idea of how to proceed from here… So of course YOU don’t. You can’t even ask a woman out on a date.”

“I bet I can in a bunch of these universes. I bet in one, I’m George Clooney, Barack Obama, Chuck Norris and the whole Rat Pack rolled into one.”

“And, trust me, THAT you is an asshole. Kid, humans have this annoying prediliction for trying to feel that they are at one with the universe. In the dimensions where God exists, he thinks it’s really cute. Personally I find it pretty conceited to put yourself on equal footing with the whole damn shebang.”

“So, you’re not…?”

“God? Nah. Probably not, anyway. Look, the universe is pretty straightforward: First, it expands. When it can’t do that any more, it collapses and repeats this again and again, infinitely, inexorably. Otherwise, it’s a container. A badass container, sure, but is a hatbox more important than a hat?”

“B-but… I’m the puzzle, the weave of the tapestry of reality; present in every cell, in every quark.”

The Dude shrugged, “Sorry, if you stand in a river, you do not become the river; if you exist in the universe, you are not inherently part of the universe.”

Jerry got bored of metaphysics and tuned out The Dude. He gazed into the boundless planes of reality. He saw himself driving down the highway on a summer’s day in a red convertible Tesla, the warm wind tousling his hair as he floors it with no direction in mind. He saw himself piloting a spaceship through a galactic battle line, lasers blasting through the vaccuum of space — silent streaks of death in every direction. He saw himself sitting on a couch at eighty years of age, holding the hand of the woman he has been married to for fifty years. He saw himself riding a tyrannasauras rex and firing a shotgun randomly into the air.

“If all of these people are me,” he finally said, “who am I?”

The Dude strode over and put his arm on Jerry’s shoulder, pulling him into an uncomfortable hug, “Isn’t it enough that somewhere, sometime, somehow… They are all you?”

Jerry gazed at infinite possibility, closed his eyes and a tear rolled slowly down his cheek. He buried his face in the crook of his arm.

“Maybe you should use a napkin?” Jerry peered up over his arm, he could just make out the blurry form of the barista, holding out a blurry square of paper.

“Thanks, Michelle,” he croaked, trying to wipe his eyes with the too small napkin, “Can I get a chai?”

“About time you switched up your order. I’m awesome at those.” She paused, then added, “I’m not Michelle. She used to work here. The manager is too cheap to order a nametag for me, so I wear hers as a joke. My name is Anne.”

Jerry forced himself to look her straight in the eyes. This was his dimension, damn it. “Anne, would you like to have dinner with me?”

An incredible length of time passed. Stars were birthed in nebulas; empires fell and crumbled to dust. Maybe it was more like ten seconds. Finally the barista gave a small smile and said, “I’d like that, Jerry. I’m free Saturday.”

Jerry found himself smiling a huge, broad smile, “How about tonight? I have it on good authority that the universe will end tomorrow.”