Scampi: See, Peter,
Scampi: Well, I’m just saying.
Peter: What are you saying?
Scampi: Well. So there are these pigeons roosting all over the place. Everywhere.
Scampi: I know you know this.
Scampi: You’ve seen a pigeon or two, in your time.
Peter: They are members of a moderately ubiquitous species.
Scampi: Moving on in this vein.
Scampi: If you will.
Peter: I may.
Scampi: The city is full of brick buildings. They are red-brick. Or yellow. Actually, there are a number of possibilities.
Peter: I do not dispute this.
Scampi: No, well. I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?
Peter: I didn’t, which is rather more the material point.
Scampi: The material in question is in fact brick. Whatever colour it might be. The colour is immaterial.
Peter: You had something to say about pigeons.
Scampi: And I said it. It led to bricks, basically.
Peter: Pigeons lead to bricks?
Peter: That’s absurd.
Scampi: It isn’t.
Scampi: Look, if you see a whole bunch of pigeons. Taking it easy I mean.
Peter: If I did.
Scampi: Where are they?
Peter: Are we expecting someone?
Peter: Where are who?
Scampi: The pigeons.
Peter: What pigeons?
Scampi: The hypothetical theoretical pigeons.
Peter: Pardon me?
Scampi: Peter! The pigeons I was talking about.
PETER STARES LIKE A CABBAGE ON A BARROW AT THE COUNTY FAIR.
Scampi: I said, If you were to see all these pigeons. Like, just say you did.
Peter: If they were gathered en masse.
Scampi: Which, you’ll admit, is not such a rarity.
Peter: You speak the truth.
Scampi: Well, where might they be sitting?
Peter: In the eaves. On the roof.
Scampi: Quite right.
Scampi: Of a brick building! That’s what I’m saying.
Peter: What are you saying?
Scampi: That it’s not such a stretch as you made out. Pigeons to brick. So,
Scampi: What are you doing with that measuring tape?
Peter: Ensuring our continued felicity.
Scampi: Are you distancing yourself from me?
Peter: I’m just checking up on the numbers, my friend.
Scampi: My friend! Funny guy.
Peter: Excuse me?
Scampi: I just think how you talk is funny sometimes. In a good way.
Scampi: Is that okay with you?
Peter: I suppose it is.
Scampi: That’s the best supposition you’ve made all day.
Scampi: You should have it framed. Bronzed, even.
Peter: Are you quite alright?
Scampi: I dunno. Why do you ask?
Peter: Far be it from me to pry.
Peter: Ahem. But you don’t seem exactly yourself today.
Scampi: I suppose that’s true.
Scampi: Yes. I feel more like a reasonable facsimile.
Peter: Why’s that?
Scampi: I don’t know. Or maybe I do.
Peter: I think that correctly identifies the two possibilities.
Peter: Can I get you something?
Scampi: Naw. Maybe.
Peter: A coffee, perhaps?
Scampi: Um yes.
Scampi: Thanks, Peter.
Peter: My pleasure.
Scampi: Yes. I think I’m trying to situate myself. You know? The pigeons, the brick. I mean, I haven’t talked about the weather.
Peter: You have not.
Scampi: Are we in a snowglobe? Are we galloping across the plains?
Peter: What questions.
Scampi: In my left hand is the entire sky. Including the ground it’s touching.
Peter: It looks rather like a coffee mug.
Scampi: No, no. Listen Peter.
Peter: Don’t burn yourself.
Scampi: In my right hand, I’ve got the weather, the time of day. That stuff.
Scampi: I am juggling my own hands. I am flapping them at a birdcage full of nouns.
Peter: I don’t follow you.
Scampi: No, you don’t.
Peter: Hm. At least that’s settled.
Scampi: I just thought it would be nice to talk about some stable items. Otherwise the extrapolation might vanquish me. On a day like today I mean. Surely you can see this.
Peter: You look peakish.
Scampi: I’m afraid to look down.