Peter: Crunch crunch.

Scampi: That is an unusually crunchy sandwich you’ve got there.

Peter: It is an onion sandwich.

Scampi: Hm.  [SCAMPI HAS NO AVAILABLE COMMENTS HERE.  THERE ARE NO OPTIONS.]

Peter: Well.  You’re awfully quiet today.

PAUSE.

Peter: Not that I’m complaining.  In fact, most of the time, your voice is like a jigsaw in my ear.  Whining and spewing sawdust.  Ug.

Scampi: Good call.

Peter: I was thinking of buying a new broom.

Scampi: To sweep the floor with?

Peter: In so many words.

Scampi: What?

Peter: You can’t take a hint, can you?

Scampi: No.  Of course I can’t.

Peter SIGHS.

Scampi: Why should I?

Peter: Well.  It’s the grown-up thing to do.

Scampi: I think the grown-up thing to do is to say what you mean.  Anyway, what do you know about grownups?

SCAMPI AND PETER REALISE AT THIS PRECISE MOMENT THAT THEY HAVE REACHED AN IMPASSE.  OR PERHAPS A CANYON.  ON THE ONE SIDE OF WHICH ARE CAMPED GROWNUPS.  ON THE OTHER SIDE OF WHICH SCAMPI AND PETER SQUABBLE LIKE CHILDREN.

Peter: Look, I’m going to boil the water for tea.  Would you like a cup?

Scampi: Yeah I’ll have one.  Thank you.

Peter: No, no.  I insist: thank you.

Scampi: The pleasure is all mine.

Peter: You’re too kind.

Scampi: I guess kindness is important.

Peter: Yes.

Scampi: Do you think you’re kind, very much?  I mean, do you think of yourself as a kind person?

Peter: What are you implying?

Scampi: I’m not.  [PAUSE.]  I’m really not.

Peter: Fine.

Scampi: I just mean – I don’t know.  I don’t know if people think of themselves as kind.

Peter: Perhaps I don’t think of myself at all.

Scampi: Yes, you do.

Peter: Sometimes, I think that my mind is a disease.  Does this count?

Scampi: Yes.  According to Depeche Mode, everything counts.

Peter: Ah.

Scampi: Sometimes one’s mind can be hard on one.

Peter: Yes.

Scampi: Maybe all this housecleaning is upsetting you.

Peter: Impossible.

Scampi: Maybe you should read a book.  Get back your special glow.

Peter: I already ate an onion sandwich.  I am not short on creature comforts.

Scampi: You are truly a self-made man.

Peter: Goodbye.

Scampi: What?

Peter: I am tired of your chatter.  It is tiresome.  I can’t think.

Scampi: But I haven’t had any tea yet!

Peter: Oh well.

Scampi: Oh well.

Peter: See ya later!  Ciao!

SCAMPI IS ALREADY HALFWAY ACROSS THE CITY, PLAYING PINBALL AND LISTENING TO THE WHO, AND THUS, SHE MISSES THIS LAST REMARK.  EVEN IF SHE HAD HEARD IT, HOWEVER, SHE DOES NOT SPEAK ITALIAN.