Scampi: Peter, I don’t know what to think.
Peter: Oh? Why is that?
Scampi: Well, I don’t know.
Peter: Hardly surprising, I suppose.
Scampi: Everything’s going so slowly.
Peter: I thought you said just the other day that time was whipping past at an appalling rate.
Scampi: Perhaps I did. But things are going very slowly as well.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Something or other haunts my dreams.
Peter: Something or other?
Scampi: Yes. It haunts me.
Peter: What does?
Scampi: I just told you.
PETER FUMBLES HIS GLASSES IN FRUSTRATION.
Scampi: Oh, don’t give me that.
Peter: Give you what? I’ve given you nothing.
Scampi: No one’s going to argue with you on that score.
Peter: Pardon me?
A NORTH SEA FOG DESCENDS UPON PETER’S HEAD, MUFFLING HIS VOICE.
Scampi: I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean that. You are a gift. A treasure, to be sure.
PAUSE.
Scampi: Look, I didn’t mean that.
Peter: That I’m a treasure?
Scampi: No, the other part. Let’s forget it.
Peter: Okay.
Scampi: Sweet equanimity.
Peter: Yes.
Scampi: I’m not sure what to make of anything, at present.
Peter: Oh?
Scampi: I know you’re not a big fan of jazz, for example.
Peter: What is that an example of, pray tell?
Scampi: Your musical tastes.
Peter: Ah.
Scampi: No jazz: check. But me on the other hand.
Peter: But you on the other hand.
Scampi: That seems pretty much all there is to say about it, really. I am on another hand. If I’m anywhere at all.
PETER SCRATCHES HIS HEAD.
Scampi: Are you very restless today?
Peter: No, I don’t think so. Why?
Scampi: All this moving about with your head and your accessories.
Peter: I do not feel that there has been undue movement.
Scampi: Well, not undue, no.
Peter: Then we are agreed.
Scampi: I love it when that happens!
PETER CLEARS HIS THROAT.
Scampi: What would you compare me to, if you had to compare me to something?
Peter: I would not.
Scampi: A mountain? A bird’s nest?
Peter: No.
Scampi: It was worth a try.
Peter: What was?
Scampi: The poking, the prodding. It’s nice to figure out what’s going on.
Peter: In my warehouse of analogy?
Scampi: Precisely.
Peter: I believe that building belongs to you.
Scampi: I suppose it does.
PAUSE.
Scampi (magnanimously): But you may visit whenever you like.
Peter: You are too kind.
Scampi: Ain’t it the truth. When was the last time you used a hammer?
Peter: Me?
Scampi: No, the postman.
Peter: What postman?
Scampi: Yes, you. A hammer. When did you use one last?
Peter: That’s not really the sort of thing I keep track of. That is to say,
Scampi: Maybe to put up a picture in your house?
Peter: Maybe.
Scampi: If I pressed a hammer into your hands at this very moment, what would you do with it?
Peter: I don’t know.
Scampi: Well. There you go, then.
Peter: What are you talking about?
Scampi: Tools.
Peter: I see.
Scampi (dreamily): I don’t know, either.
Radiofree Scampytail 