Scampi: Ok, Peter, let’s get some things straight.


Peter: My mouth is like, full of pizza.


Scampi: Why are you talking that way?


Peter: There is pizza sauce on each one of my fingers.


Scampi: Disgusting.


Peter: God, I feel good.


Scampi: You rococo thumbprint.


Peter: What?


Scampi: What’s up with your freshly minted tackiness incarnate?


Peter: Is this what passes for belligerence these days?


Scampi: You know what’s hilarious? Someone trying to say shit while his mouth is full of nasty old pizza.


Peter: It’s funny you should mention that.


Scampi: Oh yeah?


Peter: Yes.


Scampi: Why?


Peter: I think you know why.


Scampi: Maybe you don’t think at all.


Peter: I think that I am eating pizza instead of talking to you.


Scampi: I think you’re wearing suspenders.


Peter: Yes. You’re correct.


Scampi: You anachronism.




Scampi: It looks good on you.


Peter: Tomato?


Scampi: Another time.


Peter: Melted cheese?


Scampi: No, the trappings of the past.


Peter: Oh?


Scampi: They’ve trapped you, all right.


Peter: Hm.


Scampi: But that suits you.


Peter: I’m gonna get a cellphone and a girlfriend. Once I’ve got a cellphone and a girlfriend, I’ll never get off either.


Scampi: Yeah.


Peter: I will drive the word pedestrian right through your cerebral cortex with a darning needle. I’m gonna paint this town taupe with mediocrity.


Scampi: I bet you’ll miss the ocean when you’re gone.


Peter: What ocean?


Scampi: You thrive on that shit. You like missing the ocean sixty four percent more than you like swimming in it.


Peter: Whatever, Scampi.


Scampi: You’ll be licking the salt off your skin.


Peter: My skin is none of your business.


Scampi: And you’ll remember how it carried you.


Peter: Perhaps I will be using my newfound social capital to purchase a flotation device. This will likely carry me far more efficiently than the unpredictable saline depths.


Scampi: Yes, Peter.


Peter: I’m glad you see reason.


Scampi: I do.


Peter: Good.


Scampi: I see it floating away.


Peter: I often neglect to shave.


Scampi: We are a delicate race.




Peter: My eyes are changing colour.


Scampi: They always do that.


Peter: So, what’s the big problem with me eating pizza? I’m not allowed to feed myself?


Scampi: No.


Peter: Is that it?


Scampi: No, that’s not it.


Peter: Well?


Scampi: Well, nothing. I don’t even know how tall you are.


Peter: I am six feet tall.


Scampi: That’s what you say.


Peter: It is.


Scampi: Go to sleep, Peter.


Peter: I’m already sleeping.


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