Peter: Calm yourself.
Scampi: Who said I wasn’t calm?
Peter: You just did.
Scampi: Did not.
Scampi: I know you’ve often had occasion to ignore the works of Paul Éluard.
Scampi: We see a vision of ourselves in a glacial lake.
Peter: We do?
Scampi: Why not? The sun in the frozen water.
Scampi: No. Water that is cold. Frozen water.
Peter: Freezing water?
Scampi: Stop picking on me. Jesus.
Peter: I am not picking on you.
Scampi: Oh, you feel the weight o’ the world, don’t ya?
Peter: That seems an excessive description.
Scampi: Impossible! Such insolence.
Peter: Naturally, no one would consider your illuminating ruminations to be insolent.
Scampi: Naturally. The pain of the world bounces back at us from the water. In the shape of sunlight.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Yes. The glacial lake.
Peter: What’s all this about a lake?
Scampi: I dunno. What do you have against lakes?
Scampi: Imagine, if you will.
Scampi: You are standing on the shore.
Peter: I am?
Scampi: You are. The sun is on the water. The water is primordially frosty.
Scampi: You watch the light reflect off the water and your heart is full and also empty. And the water is frozen and on fire.
Peter: Is this a metaphor?
Scampi: Stop that.
Scampi: “Born of the sun they traveled a short while towards the sun,/And left the vivid air signed with their honor.”
Peter: What was that?
Scampi: Spender. Stephen.
Scampi: What are you doing this afternoon?
Peter: I have no fixed arrangements, per se.
Scampi: Want to go sign the vivid air with our honour?
Peter: Well, perhaps.
Peter: What will this entail?
Scampi: Oh, you know. It’ll be fun.
Peter: Perhaps I should change my coat.
Scampi: Formal wear is not required.
Scampi: We can go down to the water.
Scampi: We can even remove our shoes.
Peter: Anything is possible.
Scampi: That’s correct.