Scampi: I like your tie, Peter.
Peter: Oh, stop.
Scampi: No, really. It brings out the best in us all.
Scampi: Have you ever had frostbite?
Scampi: Sometimes people take a long walk on Christmas Eve in the late nineties. Their quadriceps turn blue.
Peter: Is that so?
Scampi: This is a fact. Bona fide.
Scampi: Well, really. White more. But you know what I mean.
Peter: I am immune to the elements.
Peter: Well, as compared to you. I am coated in an impenetrable crust.
Scampi: Of dirt?
Peter: It’s my Anglo-Saxon skin. It protects me from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
Scampi: That’s lovely.
Peter: I’m trying to think.
Scampi: Does that bother you?
Peter: Mm. In fact, I am actually trying not to think. It is a great relief to me. I am enjoying the smells that are closest to my own nose. I am just breathing them in.
Scampi: Would that be the smell of your moustache, for example?
Peter: It is springtime in my nose. It is warm and happy.
Scampi: Your nose is replete with the promise of happiness?
Peter: It is happy. I am very content. Look how happy I am.
Scampi: Perhaps it’s time for me to go outside and build an igloo. I could be good at that.
Peter: Yes. We could all be good at something.
Scampi: For me, it’s igloo-building.
Scampi: For you, it’s simple narratives in the Romantic style. (Peppered lightly with Industrial-age-jargon.)
Peter: In the Zeitgeist cookbook, you will find me on page ninety-seven.
Scampi: Oh, I have that on hold at the library.
PETER PLACES A LARGE FELT HAT UPON HIS HEAD.
Scampi: Nice touch. Would you like to walk down to the library with me?
Peter: Certainly not. I shall be staying in tonight.
Scampi: Oh? Why is that?
Peter: I must count all of my blankets. I only have one sheet, but I have several blankets. I must count them in order of softness.
Scampi: That sounds like fun.
Scampi: Well, I’ll catch you later. I have snow to build.