Scampi: What’s between the water and the air?

Peter: Club soda?

Scampi: Was that a joke?

Peter: Perhaps.

Scampi: I don’t know what you have to be so cheerful about these days.  Jesus H.

PAUSE.

Scampi: You might think we’re between the water and the air, but we aren’t.

Peter: Duly noted.

Scampi: You’re not even listening to me.

Peter: My apologies.  Please, continue this nonsensical babble.

Scampi: Feh.

PAUSE.

Scampi: Now, take chalk.  Are you with me?

Peter: Chalk.

Scampi: Yes!  Calcium.

Peter: [stage whispering] Is that a secret?

Scampi: What?

Peter: Why are you speaking of calcium in this manner?

Scampi: We’re talking about chalk.

Peter: Ahem.  Calcium carbonate.

Scampi: I was getting to that.

Peter: I see.

Scampi: Right.  You know when you can see the air do that shimmering thing, because of the heat?

Peter: Yes.

Scampi: Well, what do you think of that?

Peter: I believe it would qualify as cliché, if it appeared in print.

Scampi: Print?  What are you talking about?

Peter: Literary mores.

Scampi: What do you know about it?  Anyway, I was talking about the weather.

Peter: Please, do not let me impede your progress.

Scampi: What?

Peter: Continue.

Scampi: When it’s so hot that the air doesn’t move, right?  What do you think about that?

Peter: That sounds very warm.

Scampi: Of course it’s warm.  Peter.

Peter: Yes?

Scampi: Is that all?

Peter: I am unsure as to what is being demanded at the present moment.

Scampi: What do you think of doves?

Peter: I approve of them.

Scampi: Without reservation?

Peter: [serious thought]  Yes.

Scampi: Okay.

PAUSE.

Scampi: You know the way if you mix pigment you get like, black or brown, but if you mix light you don’t?

Peter: That is one way of putting it.

Scampi: The cliffs of Dover are made of chalk.

Peter: Yes.

Scampi: Not like us.

Peter: It is true that we are not composed of chalk.

Scampi: Are you sure?

Peter: Yes.

Scampi: [craftily] Well, then, what are we composed of?

Peter: Matter.

Scampi: A coward’s explanation.

Peter: Pardon me?

Scampi: What do you think about planets?

Peter: They are spherical in nature.

Scampi: [knowingly] They aren’t the only ones.

Peter: What are you suggesting?

Scampi: It’s very clear.  Like the view from the cliffs.

Peter: Have you visited in Dover?

Scampi: What does that have to do with anything?

Peter: SIGHS.

Scampi: I’ve been all around this world, mister.  Like the moons of Jupiter.

Peter: I am not sure I grasp the analogy.

Scampi: Ha.  Quel surprise.

PAUSE.

Scampi: [conciliatory]  You have an affinity for the natural sciences, of course.

Peter: Ah.

Scampi: Don’t deny it, Peter.

Peter: Well, we must begin by,

Scampi: Begin – nothing.

Peter: I see.

Scampi: I’m sure your trundled carapace hides the heart of an astronomer.  A seasick lordling, teetering amidships.

Peter: I am confused.

Scampi: In what sense?

Peter: Temporally.

Scampi: Right: Reformation, Renaissance.  Wars, Second World; Napoleonic.  See?

Peter: Are you obliquely referring to England in an attempt to make me feel more comfortable?

Scampi: Yes.

SCAMPI WHISTLES LIKE A BLUEBIRD.

Scampi: How are you today?

Peter: I am well.

Scampi: Great.

Peter: Thank you.  And you?

Scampi: Oh yes.  Yeah, bigtime.

Peter: Wonderful.

Scampi: The thing is, if you don’t know what medium you’re working with, you can’t know if it will turn out brown or not.

Peter: Pardon?

Scampi: I have been mixing all the colours at my disposal for quite some time now.

Peter: Well, good for you.

Scampi: But I don’t know if I’m building a blanched sheet of prismic perfection, or a mud puddle.

Peter: A quandary, to be sure.

Scampi: Are you paying attention to me?

Peter: It certainly appears that way.

Scampi: Humph.

Peter: With all due respect.

Scampi: (Oh, this’ll be good.)

Peter: You do seem to have a fondness for mud puddles.

Scampi: So what?

Peter: A simple observation.

Scampi: You and your observations.

Peter: Yes?

Scampi: Such a scientist.

Peter: There is nothing wrong with science.

Scampi: There is nothing wrong with anything.

Peter: Oh?

Scampi: Until the perfect view is destroyed by one’s presence in it.

PAUSE.

Scampi: Do you know what I’m saying to you?

Peter: I believe I do.