Scampi: I smell trouble.


Peter: You are trouble.


Scampi: Me?


Peter: You.


Scampi: Humph. That was uncalled for.


Peter: How’d you get that black eye?


Scampi: Dunno.


Peter: Hm?


Scampi: Oh, well, you know.


Peter: Right.


Scampi: Let’s go have a snowball fight.


Peter: No.


Scampi: Do you know how to whistle using a blade of grass?


Peter: Theoretically.


Scampi: What?


Peter: No.


Scampi: I am fond of the sound the sun makes on snow.


Peter: Melting?


Scampi: No. Of course not.


Peter: What sound are you referring to?


Scampi: Sometimes, I think one shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition.


Peter SIGHS.


Scampi: One could end it with a RE-position instead. Or with an onomatopoeia. Like, BLARG!


Peter: Blarg is not onomatopoeic.


Scampi: Don’t advertise the narrow breadth of your experience, Peter. Of course it is.




Scampi: The sound is like cut glass.


Peter: Blarg?


Scampi: What? No! How ridiculous.


Peter: Oh, excuse me.


Scampi: How foolish. I was referring to the sound of sunlight on snow. It’s like cutting glass. It’s like the tinkle of Waterford crystal on a shelf. Or on a table, I suppose.


Peter: I believe you are experiencing aural hallucinations.


Scampi: I believe I’m in love.


Peter: With what?


Scampi: The season.


Peter: Did you, uh, put some ice on that shiner?


Scampi: Sure I did.




Scampi: Sure I did. I put some icing sugar on the tip of Kilimanjaro while I was at it.


Peter: The flesh is weak, but the spirit soars.


Scampi: Hell yeah.


Peter: Have you had lunch yet?


Scampi: No.


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