Scampi: I can’t quite put it into words.
Peter: I can’t hear you.
Scampi: I’m not mumbling!
Peter: Sorry?
Scampi: Urgh!
A PAUSE REPLETE WITH MAGENTA AND BANANA LEAVES.
Sacmpi: I wish I could explain this to you.
Peter: I am simply going about my daily life. I am a busy man.
Scampi: You’re always a busy man.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: These days.
Peter: I have many responsibilities.
Scampi: Yeah, like what?
Peter: I have important work to do. I have bills to pay.
Scampi: False.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Forget it.
SILENCE.
Scampi: Could I offer you a tiny cup of scalding coffee laced with cardamom?
Peter: Oh? What’s this all about?
Scampi: This is one way to have coffee, between friends.
Peter: Were you intending to be friendly?
Scampi: Really! Don’t be preposterous!
Peter: Ah. This is one way to have coffee.
Scampi: Yes. We might discuss the days gone by and the days to come.
Peter: And what of the days at hand?
Scampi: They are swarming me. Like fishes and bees.
Peter: Is something amiss?
Scampi: I don’t think so. I believe it is all right as rain.
Peter: Is it raining?
Scampi: Somewhere it is. Presumably.
Peter: Is this a meteorological fact? That it is raining in some location at all times?
Scampi: Well, isn’t it?
Peter: No. Perhaps.
Scampi: Just not in Antarctica, the driest place on earth.
Peter: No.
Scampi: My mind is simply stuffed.
Peter: With Antarctic aridity?
Scampi: Absolutely not. With emotions.
Peter: Er.
Scampi: I don’t even know what kind of a noise that is.
Peter: Eh?
Scampi: You’re like the Consul General of the British Isles. With these noises.
Peter: That is not my present occupation, in fact.
Scampi: Well, it is in fiction.
A PLAINTIVE RATTLE OF MOURNING DOVES.
Scampi: Whereas I am so thrilled and lowly.
Peter: Holey?
Scampi: Amen!
Peter: Pardon me?
Scampi: Low-some. Down, down, in the depths of good cheer.
Peter: Is this the Homemaker’s Guide to Manic Depression?
Scampi: Oh, Peter. Stop being so tense. I’m simply explaining the state of affairs.
Peter: Well-stated.
Scampi: And speaking of the state of the nation, maybe you should go drape yourself in a colonial flag, like a cape, you know.
Peter: I have no reason to engage in such an activity.
Scampi: On the contrary, you love that sort of thing.
Peter: I feel I am being typecast.
Scampi: Typical.
Peter: There you go again.
Scampi: Don’t blame me for the faults of your feet.
Peter: That is a quote from something.
Scampi: Oho, “something”. Well-cited.
Peter: It is not my task to cite your quotations for you.
Scampi: No, it certainly isn’t.
Peter: SIGHS.
Scampi: I am seeing a lot of beautiful things. Of course.
Peter (yawning): Of course.
Scampi: Don’t let me disturb you with this familiar train of thought or anything. But the beauty is manifesting itself differently.
Peter: I wonder if I should moisturise my beard.
Scampi: I don’t even know what’s being left behind.
Peter: Perhaps a residue of white flakes.
Scampi: Not in your beard, Peter.
Peter: Oh? Where?
Scampi: With me.
Peter: You feel you are being left behind?
Scampi: No!
Peter: Oh.
Scampi: I’m trying to figure out these important things and all you do is talk about your beard.
Peter: Ah! Thusly we see that in your estimation, my beard is unimportant.
Scampi: No, of course not. Your beard is like a goddam christly miracle. To me. In its multitudinous bounty.
Peter: It is perhaps a touch full, of late.
Scampi: It is a thing in this world, anyway.
Peter: Or a portion of my face.
Scampi: Face shmace: we’re all things in this world. Stack of dirhams in a treasury.
Peter: To whom does this treasury belong?
Scampi: One wonders.
Radiofree Scampytail 