Scampi: I’ve been thinking about things.
Scampi: Don’t get too excited, now.
Peter: I shall do my utmost to remain calm.
Scampi: Anyhow, I’ve been thinking.
Peter: The brain is a gift.
Scampi: Yes. An evolutionary bouquet of surprises.
Scampi: Cortex’s gold! A big man on hippocampus!
Scampi: I saw you laughing at that.
Peter: Absolutely not.
Scampi: I saw you snickering into your handkerchief.
Scampi: Come on, Peter, don’t lie.
Peter: I am not a liar.
Scampi: Yes, yes. And no one has accused you of being one.
Peter: You just –
Scampi: But back to the real revolution here, if you will.
Scampi: For starters, we have the beauty of the outdoors.
Peter: We do.
Scampi: We have the bare bones of trees, a huge sky.
Scampi: I mean, obviously I’m not going to list off everything. We could be here all day.
Scampi: Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Or anything.
Peter: Maybe you should go into weather forecasting.
Scampi: What a thing to say.
Peter: It was just a suggestion.
Scampi: I bite my lip, and then a perfect cloud appears overhead. A perfect, fluffy slice of cumulus. I brush my hair out of my eyes, and the wind plays a minuet on the shingles across the street. And you want me to go into weather forecasting! Really.
Peter: Am I to infer that you believe there is a causal relationship between your facial tics and the current weather systems?
Scampi: Do you believe in God, Peter?
Peter: Well, I need a bit more context to answer that question.
Scampi: Right. Ridiculous.
Peter: Pardon me?
Scampi: I am so in love with the sun today. And you just sit here punching me in the face with frozen slabs of like, Adorno.
Peter: I resent these accusations.
Scampi: While I present these adumbrations.
Scampi: Do you feel like dancing?
Scampi: This is unsurprising.
Peter: Yes. Well.
Scampi: I feel like stretching my legs.
Peter: How do you plan to do that?
Scampi: I just need to find a long pond. To leap over, you see.
Peter: You might get your feet wet.
Scampi: Well. One of us has to.