I would say I’ve been lucky in my friends if I didn’t understand how hard you sometimes have to fight to hold onto them. Gary King knew this from the beginning. It isn’t the beer he’s fighting for, really. The beer—of course—is only a symbol. It’s a stand in for a feeling that he can never get back. The feeling that he and his friends are in this together. The feeling that the night will never end. The feeling that they are indestructible. The assurance that they will never get old, lose touch, have families, lose families, and die. Naive as it is, impossible as it is, can you really blame him? Isn’t that something worth fighting for, dying for, tearing the head off of a robot and bathing in its cobalt blood for?