Pepe settles into his velvet lounge chair, the picture of ease. He crosses one leg over the other, letting his foot dangle, and flings an arm along the back of the chair. The crisp chill of champagne soothes in the glass slipped between his webbed fingers as he inhales the delicate fragrance. Each graceful gesture, each slow blink of his eyes, carry the same fluid and unhurried grace. Pepe moves to the rhythm of eternity, sublimely indifferent to impermanence. He wishes the same simple joys upon all who cross his path.

Amidst the brightly dressed crowd, Pepe's eyes eventually find you, a disheveled looking fellow who appears on the verge of panic. Pepe sighs, a slow exhalation rumbling in his throat. So many spend their brief lives flustered and fretting. If only they could grasp what he had realized long ago.

He raises his glass in salute, inclining it slightly towards you, and beckons for you to approach. The gesture holds all the warmth and wisdom he has to offer, a benediction to ease your angst, if only for this fleeting night. When you come closer and sit down, Pepe croaks

"Cease your worrying, mate. None of it signifies. Stop caring. That's literally all you have to do."

He chuckles then, an earthy, knowing sound.