Scampi: You know what time it is?
Peter: I believe it is approximately two p.m.
Scampi: It’s time to start counting down the snowflakes.
Peter: What snowflakes?
Scampi: They’re on their way.
Peter: Are you gesturing at the advent of winter?
Scampi: The season is upon us.
Peter: What season?
Scampi: The season of DEMOCRACY!
Peter: Like, pumping your fist in the air?
Scampi: That’s right. DEMOCRACY is on its way. I can feel it in my teeth.
Peter: My teeth hurt.
Scampi: You should brush them more often.
Peter: I do brush them often.
Scampi: With a toothbrush I mean. And paste.
Peter: This may or may not be the correct interval to mention that I see no evidence of democracy or snowflakes in the air.
Scampi: I’m not sure that was the correct interval. I will make a note of your suggestion, and address it in due course.
Peter: Thank you.
Scampi: Speaking of snowflakes, I am finding the air uncommonly warm.
Peter: Yes, it buffets us about with its uncommon warmth. We are truly blessed.
Scampi: We are.
Scampi: I have made a pot of tea. Would you like some?
Peter: No thank you.
SCAMPI DRINKS HER TEA. IT IS UTTERLY DELICIOUS.
Scampi: This tea is delicious.
Peter: I have no doubt.
Scampi: I do. I am plagued with doubts. They shimmy with me across the floor. They steep in my cup.
Scampi: Have you ever looked out, way out, to the edge of the water?
Scampi: Me too.
Peter: You’re looking a little queasy.
Scampi: I am?
Scampi: It’s the waves. They’re swamping me.
Peter: Oh. Perhaps I will have some tea after all.
Scampi: Help yourself.
Peter: You, ah—
Scampi: Don’t say it.
Scampi: Your hands are still so delicate. They are like moths.
Scampi: They’re practically phosphorescent. I can tell you’ve been reading lots of books.
Peter: How can you tell that?
Scampi: From your hands. They’re as delicate as your synapses.
Peter: There’s nothing delicate about my synapses.
Scampi: Of course not. Your synapses are firing a sixteen gun salute as we speak.
Peter: How terrifying.
Scampi: For my part, I salute your synapses, and their utter lack of delicacy.
Peter: I think I’m getting a migraine.
Scampi: It’s all that gunpowder going off in your hippocampus.
Scampi: That was theatrical.
Peter: Yes well.
Scampi: Can you feel the wind on your face?
Peter: Why wouldn’t I?
Scampi: As we have previously discussed, you have hair growing out of your face.
Peter: So what?
Scampi: So maybe you can’t feel the wind. I don’t know anything about it.
Peter: I can feel the wind.
Scampi: Can you feel it rifling through your beard, looking for secrets?
Peter: No. There are no secrets in my beard.
Scampi: If I had a beard, I would fill it to the max.
Peter: With secrets?
Scampi: Yes. It would be the ultimate piggy bank.
Peter: Well, good for you.
Scampi: Thank you. Covert operations are my specialty. What direction is this wind coming from?
Peter: It’s coming from the far side of the world.
Scampi: It smells a bit like yesterday.
Peter: Yes. This is due to physics.
Scampi: Tell me.
Peter: Tell you what?
Scampi: Something I don’t know.
Peter: First I will have more tea.
Scampi: Go ahead. I’ve got all day.