Scampi: Ok, Peter, let’s get some things straight.
Peter: My mouth is like, full of pizza.
Scampi: Why are you talking that way?
Peter: There is pizza sauce on each one of my fingers.
Peter: God, I feel good.
Scampi: You rococo thumbprint.
Scampi: What’s up with your freshly minted tackiness incarnate?
Peter: Is this what passes for belligerence these days?
Scampi: You know what’s hilarious? Someone trying to say shit while his mouth is full of nasty old pizza.
Peter: It’s funny you should mention that.
Scampi: Oh yeah?
Peter: I think you know why.
Scampi: Maybe you don’t think at all.
Peter: I think that I am eating pizza instead of talking to you.
Scampi: I think you’re wearing suspenders.
Peter: Yes. You’re correct.
Scampi: You anachronism.
PETER STUFFS HIS MOUTH WITH SHITTY PIZZA.
Scampi: It looks good on you.
Scampi: Another time.
Peter: Melted cheese?
Scampi: No, the trappings of the past.
Scampi: They’ve trapped you, all right.
Scampi: But that suits you.
Peter: I’m gonna get a cellphone and a girlfriend. Once I’ve got a cellphone and a girlfriend, I’ll never get off either.
Peter: I will drive the word pedestrian right through your cerebral cortex with a darning needle. I’m gonna paint this town taupe with mediocrity.
Scampi: I bet you’ll miss the ocean when you’re gone.
Peter: What ocean?
Scampi: You thrive on that shit. You like missing the ocean sixty four percent more than you like swimming in it.
Peter: Whatever, Scampi.
Scampi: You’ll be licking the salt off your skin.
Peter: My skin is none of your business.
Scampi: And you’ll remember how it carried you.
Peter: Perhaps I will be using my newfound social capital to purchase a flotation device. This will likely carry me far more efficiently than the unpredictable saline depths.
Scampi: Yes, Peter.
Peter: I’m glad you see reason.
Scampi: I do.
Scampi: I see it floating away.
Peter: I often neglect to shave.
Scampi: We are a delicate race.
THIS SILENCE WILL GO UNEXPLAINED.
Peter: My eyes are changing colour.
Scampi: They always do that.
Peter: So, what’s the big problem with me eating pizza? I’m not allowed to feed myself?
Peter: Is that it?
Scampi: No, that’s not it.
Scampi: Well, nothing. I don’t even know how tall you are.
Peter: I am six feet tall.
Scampi: That’s what you say.
Peter: It is.
Scampi: Go to sleep, Peter.
Peter: I’m already sleeping.