Footprint 1: Hey! You look just like me!
Footprint 2: Yeah. So?
F1: I just think it’s cool, because we must have been made by the same Walker.
F2: Excuse me? You believe in a Walker? Are you an idiot?
F1: Uh, well, it would seem logical to assume that since we are both footprints, there must be a Walker who made us…at least Someone with feet.
F2: You’re full of fungus, you uneducated, illiterate, mind-numbed hole in the ground! Show me the proof! Go ahead, I’m waiting. Where’s your proof there’s a Walker?
F1: You’re being serious, aren’t you?
F2: Of course! You come aroun here bothering me with all this talk of a Walker who made me, but where is he? Where’s your proof he exists?
F1: You. Me.
F2: Jesus Christ! Oh my god!! Is that the best you’ve got? You simpleton! I could give you a thousand reasons why we are here, why we look like footprints, without having to resort to such superstitious hypotheticals like a Walker.
F1: OK, Dr. Shoal, tickle me.
F2: Oh, you’re boring me! Look, we only look like footprints because you want there to be a Walker. You can’t be happy just being here; you have to think you were made for a reason. In reality, you are just a hole in the sand that happens to look like what might have been made should a Walker exist. But you have no proof he exists. Show me the evidence! You can’t!
F1: You are the evidence. I am the evidence.
F2: I don’t accept your evidence. Actually, I would rather believe you and I are the result of higher life forms from outer space. Runners. Possibly Joggers.
F1: But believing there’s a Walker is crazy?
F2: Of course! You’re just a nut, that’s all.
F1: I still say there’s a Walker.
F2: Show me the evidence.
F1: Good grief!