Scampi: Do you think of yourself as the Executive Officer of this boat?
Peter: No. What boat?
Scampi: Very interesting.
Peter: To which boat are you referring?
Scampi: Stop being coy.
Scampi: Perhaps if you climbed up the mast, we could see where we were going.
Peter: Excuse me?
Scampi: You know, like a lookout. From the crow’s nest.
Peter: That is hardly necessary.
Scampi: That’s what you say now.
Peter: Yes. It is.
Scampi: There’s no need to be so terse with me.
Scampi: That’s right. No need whatsoever.
Scampi: Look at the sun on the water!
Scampi: The coruscating wavelets!
Peter: Are you quite well?
Scampi: Of course I am.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: The brighter the sun gets, the fluffier the clouds.
Peter: Although I by no means give credence to the relationship inferred, I will agree that the sun is bright and the clouds are fluffy.
Peter: Are you speaking about me?
Scampi: Of course not. Absurd!
Scampi: The green trees are waving in a summer breeze. I could almost capitulate.
Scampi: No, to the ice cream vendor.
Peter: Is the ice cream truck here?
Scampi: If he were, you would have heard the song.
Peter: Is that a song?
Scampi: It’s a tune, anyway. On top of his van.
Peter: I know it well.
Scampi: Of course you do. [SINGS] And when I die, there’ll be one child born…
Peter: I declare it a beautiful day for a stroll.
Scampi: I concur.
Scampi: You know what the sun reminds me of?
Scampi: A giant black pit.
Peter: Black holes? Are you talking about space?
Scampi: No. I am saying that this brightness reminds me of the darkness.
Peter: That is the contrarian way.
Scampi: It is not!
PETER LAUGHS. SCAMPI HURLS HERSELF INTO THE VOID.
Peter: Are you all right?
Scampi: No, I am all wrong.
Peter: What was that?
Scampi: It was my attempt at a cartwheel.
Scampi: “Are you all right?” Blah blah.
Peter: Please do not mimic me in this fashion. It is highly distasteful.
Scampi: Such a connoisseur, that’s our Peter.
Peter: I belong to no one.
Scampi: Don’t be so sure.
Peter: It looked more like you were attempting to give yourself a concussion. Or at any rate, a contusion.
Scampi: The latter object may have been a success, after all.
Peter: Are you bleeding?
Scampi: None of your beeswax.
Peter: This is very disquieting.
Scampi: What is?
Peter: I simply wished to go for a stroll.
Scampi: So? What else is new?
Peter: It was not an attempt at novelty.
Scampi: One of us has to step up to the plate on that score.
Peter: To what end?
Scampi: I can’t think.
Peter: Why is that?
Scampi: Who are you, Sigmund Freud?
Peter: No. I am Carl Jung.
Scampi: I can’t think any more today.
Peter: Might I aver that I would never refer to myself as Carl Jung?
Peter: It has grown rather noisy.
Scampi: Let’s run away.
Peter: I prefer to walk.
Scampi: Don’t I know it.
Peter: Are you limping?