Scampi: Speaking of equations.

 

Peter: Were we?

 

Scampi: No. Yes.

 

PETER CLEARS HIS THROAT.

 

Scampi: Well, that’s nothing new.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: It’s all you do these days. Clearing your throat.

 

Peter: Ahem.

 

Scampi [derisive snorting]: On the ex wye axes.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: Blah blah. Et cetera.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Do you want to take a nap?

 

Peter: Not at all. I want to fill my lungs with air.

 

Scampi: Good luck with that.

 

Peter: Thank you.

 

Scampi: There are several things to be said on each point.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: I can barely keep my eyes open.

 

Peter: I find that enjoying the outdoors can help.

 

Scampi: What do you know about it?

 

Peter: The outdoors?

 

Scampi: Or anything.

 

Peter: I know a few things about grade eight level mathematics.

 

Scampi: Buzz buzz.

 

Peter: Are you an insect?

 

Scampi: Would it matter?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: I think so. It would matter.

 

Peter: Uh. Are you crying?

 

Scampi: What the hell is wrong with you, Peter?

 

Peter: From an evolutionary perspective?

 

Scampi: Asking these insane questions.

 

Peter: [chuckles.]

 

Scampi: What are you laughing at?

 

PETER SIGHS.

 

Peter: In fact, I do not know.

 

Scampi: Usually.

 

Peter: Hm?

 

Scampi: You’re a bit on the perky side today.

 

Peter: Oh no. Not I.

 

Scampi: Fiddlesticks.

 

PETER GLOATS OVER HIS OWN HIGH SPIRITS.

 

Scampi: Pow.

 

Peter: What was that?

 

Scampi: Sharpshooting.

 

Peter: Are you still on about Annie Oakley?

 

Scampi: No. These are sixshooters.

 

Peter: What are?

 

Scampi: See these paws?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Pow pow pow pow.

 

Peter: What are you doing?

 

Scampi: I’m blasting all your posters off the walls. Yeehaw!

 

Peter: Must you?

 

Scampi: Bang-a-lang.

 

Peter: This is very childish behaviour.

 

Scampi: You are.

 

Peter: There you go again.

 

Scampi: I sure do. Smouldering goats! I’m on a RAM-PAGE.

 

Peter: Heavens.

 

Scampi: God, I’m tired.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: And don’t touch my forehead.

 

Peter: I was doing no such thing.

 

Scampi: I know.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Tangent.

 

Peter: Pardon?

 

Scampi: Oh, nothing.

 

PAUSE.

 

SCAMPI SIGHS.

 

Scampi: The possibilities bloom like roses.

 

Peter: I see.

 

Scampi: Do you?

 

Peter: Well, no.

 

Scampi: The fixed points; the abstractions. Ex here, wye there.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: It all seems fairly straightforward.

 

Peter: Okay.

 

Scampi: We have the capacity, as humans.

 

Peter: Yes?

 

Scampi: And yet.

 

Peter: And yet.