Scampi: I’m angry.
Peter: Mm. Uninteresting.
Scampi: I went walking on the railroad tracks last week.
Peter: Uh-huh.
Scampi: I sat down in the middle of the tracks and had a picnic. The sun was setting.
Peter: On the tracks?
Scampi: How poetic! No, in the sky.
Peter: You sat down on the tracks?
Scampi: I don’t think it counts as a picnic if you’re standing up.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: It was beautiful. My mouth was full of apple.
[PAUSE.]
Right when the sun was turning into grey soup at the end of the view, I saw a deer.
Peter: On the tracks?
Scampi: Yeah on the tracks. She looked at me with her big deer eye.
Peter: She?
Scampi: Yes.
Peter: What leads you to believe it was a she?
Scampi: Because the Yankee’s ballcap she had on her head was pink. How do you think I knew?
Peter: Oh.
Scampi: I had the urge to lie down on the tracks, dig myself a groove like a fairy tale hero, and just let the train come.
[PETER INSPECTS HIS NAILS.]
Imagine all those commuters, flying over me like rubberband airplanes.
Peter: Eviscerating your cranium…..
Scampi: You wish. Will you have some tea?
Peter: No. Thank you.
Scampi: I think you’re wrong about me.
Peter: Pardon?
Scampi: I think, for your own convenience, you’ve made up things about me that aren’t true.
Peter: Oh? What makes you think that?
Scampi: Because you wear them like a hooded sweatshirt.
Peter: That’s your opinion.
Scampi: I can see the strings dangling all the way down your front.