Scampi: Oh, hi Peter. How’s your hand feeling?
Peter: It’s fine.
Scampi: Good to hear.
Peter: What would be wrong with my hand?
Scampi: Well, you know. With the chill in the air and all.
Peter: It is the season.
Scampi: Sometimes you get an ache in a bone that was broken before. Hasn’t this happened to you?
Scampi: What are you packing into that cardboard box, anyway?
Peter: Oh, this and that. An assortment of things.
Scampi: Like what?
Scampi: Hey, what’s — ouch! Jeez. If you didn’t want me to see what’s in your cardboard box, you could just say so. Jeez Lou-eeze.
Peter: It’s private.
Scampi: Yeah, I can see that.
PAUSE. WHILE PETER FILLS HIS BOX WITH SECRET THINGS, SCAMPI FILLS THIS PAUSE WITH WILTING TREASURES:
A PINT OF TEARS/DISHWATER; LOOSE TEA; FRESH SNOW; 2 MONTHS OF PREGNANT SILENCE; A BOUQUET OF HAIRCUTS; LEGS; CURRIED POTATOES, BEETS; SIX FEET OF COUCH; CONSECUTIVE MORNINGS, NUMBERED ALPHABETICALLY; A HANDFUL OF EXTRA ALPHABETS, BEVERAGES, AND BASIC MISTAKES/COMMON ERRORS; THE BLUEPRINT FOR WHAT IS POSSIBLY A DANDELION CROWN.
Scampi: Wow. The ultimate care package!
Peter: What are you talking about?
Scampi: I’m being domestic.
Scampi: Speaking of which, what is your opinion on the current political situations?
Peter: I have sent them packing with a flourish.
Peter: To the suburbs. The current political situations are currently camped out in the meat-packing district.
Scampi: Ah ha! Excellent.
Peter: Now go away.
Peter: I want you to go away now.
Peter: Once you are gone, I will throw this box out the window.
Scampi: But what if it hits me?
Peter: Then you had better start running.