Scampi: What saint looks after lovers?
Peter: Ah yes, the lives of the saints.
Scampi: There’s no need to be such a sourpuss.
Peter: This again.
Scampi: Says you. You know, we used to have two moons?
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: One for each of us. ‘Cause we didn’t want to share.
Peter: What’s that?
Scampi: Nothing. Jupiter’s got lots.
Peter: Of moons? Certainly.
Scampi: No, for parking in.
PAUSE.
Scampi: [hums] Tell me old shipmates I’m takin’ a trip, mates.
Peter: How folksy.
Scampi: I am a volksmensch, after all. Imagine looking up at the sky and seeing two moons.
Peter: Mm.
Scampi: Of course, this isn’t very interesting for you. You probably look up at the sky and see two moons all the time. After a sufficient quantity of wine.
Peter: Indeed, this is not the case.
Scampi: Ooh, indeed. Tra-la-la.
PAUSE.
Scampi: I mean, maybe it wouldn’t make any difference. What do I know?
Peter: You seem to know a great deal about making noise.
Scampi: You would say that. That’s a precise example of something you would say.
Peter: I did say it.
Scampi: Typical.
Peter: No doubt you will now treat me to a delightful series of infantile musings – “Peter, pray tell me why is the sky blue? How deep is the ocean?”
Scampi: First of all – oh wait, and secondly, I bet you have no idea how deep the ocean is. And firstly, the sky is not blue.
Peter: Thank you for sharing this fresh take on chronology with me.
Scampi: That’s right.
PAUSE.
Scampi: You’ve never really shown a huge interest in sharks. Would you say that’s fair comment?
Peter: I am not certain what this sort of judgment is intended to procure.
Scampi: Procure? What are you, a drygoods store?
Peter: I am not.
Scampi: Yes, I’d like a bolt of blue poplin and a pound of flour, please.
Peter: I am not a drygoods store.
Scampi: You know, most people don’t have the occasion to make such protestations.
Peter: I agree.
Scampi: It’s a little suspicious, don’t you think? That you feel the need to deny being a drygoods store?
Peter: Be that as it may, I am still most emphatically not a drygoods store.
Scampi: Well, whatever makes you feel comfortable. If you’d rather be thought of as a greengrocer, or what have you, I’m perfectly prepared to accommodate your manly whims.
Peter: SIGHS.
Scampi: Maybe it wouldn’t be that different. Two moons. Herds of brontosaurs chomping at will.
Peter: What connection does the apatosaurus have with the extra moon you’ve been bewailing all afternoon?
Scampi: Aftermoon. That’s what they should call this era.
Peter: You are a little geologist.
Scampi: That I am. I am imagining if the world was slightly different. Only slightly.
Peter: With two moons and one herd of thundering herbivorous lizards?
Scampi: Well, sure. Maybe it wouldn’t make a difference.
Peter: The tides might be different.
Scampi: But not the tides of our LIVES.
Peter: Good lord.
Scampi: You wake up one morning, right? Two moons are just fading from the white sky. Your wife is not in bed next to you because she is gone. She’s gone off to Kentucky to sit and strum the mandolin under the blue moons with some guy who isn’t you.
Peter: This is quite the tale.
Scampi: What’s a brontosaur here or there compared to your broken heart? That’s what I’d like to know.
Peter: My heart is not broken.
Scampi: What?
Peter: [abashed] My heart is not broken.
Scampi: Peter.
Peter: Yes?
Scampi: Don’t fib.
Radiofree Scampytail 