I think. I get it.

George was a graduate of Roscoe’s Halfway Cafe. He had had the nice life with the wife, the kids, the cars, and had thrown it all away by trying to fill the void he felt with drugs.
All kinds of drugs. He had gone from casual cocaine use to crack to heroine, and many other pills and concoctions besides.
He soon had no wife, no kids, no house, no car, no self-respect and no money...not exactly in that order.
Unfortunately you probably know the story. One day George was in an alleyway in downtown Chicago feeling sorry for himself when he came face to face with a huge gray rat, by the name of Sir Wallace Aurthur Grey.
“Wow, I must still be tripping.”
“Yes, and no. I’m here where are you?”
A philosophical conversation ensued.
A month later George was spilling coffee at Roscoe’s Halfway Cafe. George cleaned himself up, and one day while deep in meditation finally did forgive himself, ridding himself of the guilt losing his kids had brought him.
It was at that same instant he met Mad Max.
Max was feeling particularly saucy so he decided to play his part to the...well uh, max.
“You have been searching for the meaning of life.”
“I have.”
“I will give you a gift. It’s a book. In it is contained the answer.” Max handed him the book.
George took it with trembling hands. There was no title and as George examined it further he found the pages blank.
“But, this book is blank; it’s empty.”
“Yes,” Mad Max said nodding emphatically.
“But, you said it had the answer to the meaning of life.”
“Yes,”
“But it’s blank.”
Pause.
“Write on the pages.” Max smiled with a knowing nod.
A long pause.
“I think I get it.”
“Yes.”
George ‘woke up’ smiling. The book lay on the bed next to him.
Unlike George, all you have to do is go buy one.