Scampi: We were having lunch this one time.
Scampi: We were having lunch.
Peter: I believe it.
Scampi: Ugh. Anyway, out in a restaurant. And you were like, The waitress is a ninja.
Peter: I was?
Scampi: She was stealthy. She crept up.
Scampi: Do you remember this?
Scampi: Well, I do.
Scampi: Nice weather we’re having.
Peter: Oh yes.
Scampi: I dunno.
Scampi: Fresh herbs for summer salads. Here today, gone tomorrow!
Peter: Are you reading something?
Scampi: I’m just saying.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Halfway to Mexico, and what do we do?
Peter: I don’t know.
Scampi: We stop going there.
Peter: Is that what happened?
Scampi: Well, I don’t know.
Scampi: We could take a boat. To England.
Peter: From where?
Scampi: I dunno. Plymouth Rock?
PETER, A STUFFED PEACOCK, DISAPPROVES.
Scampi: Hee hee.
Scampi: The world, as they say, is your oyster. Did you know that?
Peter: I did not.
Scampi: Why, don’t you think it’s true?
Peter: As an apt metaphor?
Scampi: Who cares?
Scampi: The world as a crustacean, the world as a shellfish. You’ve got a problem with this?
Peter: Well. I.
Scampi: Don’t you feel lucky?
Peter: Ah. Certainly.
Scampi: Yeah, well. You don’t act like it, buddy.
Peter: What is that supposed to mean?
Scampi: Nothing, nothing.
Scampi: The luck, the luckiness. It sneaks up on you like a ninja waitress. One minute you’re finishing your tea, the next minute the bill is in front of you, right there on the table.
Scampi: How the hell did this get here? you say. It was the goddam ninja waitress.
Peter: Some service industry professionals are certainly very skilled at their métier.
PETER SCRATCHES HIS HEAD.
Scampi: Look at you.
Scampi: Clawing away.
Peter: It itches.
Scampi: The truth always does.
Peter: This is incorrect.
Scampi: Itchy itchy scratchy scratchy. That’s you.
Peter: I disagree.
Scampi: As a default. We know.
Scampi: When you think of walks we took, over the years.
Peter: I don’t.
Scampi: Harumph. The seasons all roll together, don’t they?
Peter: We live in a temperate zone.
Scampi: Maybe you do.
Peter: We do.
Scampi: The winter, the spring.
Peter: Temperate seasons.
Scampi: The years.
Peter: You’re pacing.
Scampi: I am.
Peter: It’s hurting my head.
Scampi: So what?
Scampi: I’m sorry.
Scampi: Shall we stick our head out the window?
Peter: Our head?
Scampi: Yes. Your head, my head. Should we test the air?
Scampi: Not today.
Scampi: The winds of change are blowing.
Peter: Excuse me?
Scampi: They are rustling the herbs in the flowerpots.
Scampi: They appear at your door without warning.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: And then they disappear!
Scampi: And you’re stuck in the doorway, holding the bill.
Peter: What bill?
Scampi: You pretend you’re not following this train of thought.
Peter: I do not.
Scampi: You do. But your amateur theatrics don’t fool me!
Peter: This is bordering on hysteria.
Peter: I presume that you are cognisant of the time?
Scampi: I am.