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.

 

PAUSE.

 

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.

 

PAUSE.

 

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.