Converstations from Building Twelve

“Do you know what time it is?”
“No, I don’t. It’s not that late.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“What’s on my mind?”
“Yes, what’s with you lately?”
“What’s with me?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. No I don’t.”
“You just want to pretend you don’t. Pretend there’s nothing the matter.”
“Why does something always have to be the matter? I’m sitting here. Sitting here like this pillow is sitting here. There’s nothing with the pillow, and there’s nothing with me.”
“No? But maybe the pillow on the other couch is lonely. Or tired of this damn tv.”
“Don’t you start. You know I have to watch Sports Center for my blog.”
“Sure.”
“Sure. What is sure? Is that supposed to be some silent dismissal? Like what I do isn’t important?”
“It hasn’t been for years. You know it.”
“Do I? That’s just mean.”
“How does it feel?”
“How does WHAT feel? Do you always have to talk in code? When you’re talking to me? Like I’m supposed to read between the words? If you want to Say something, then just say it for chrissake, don’t just drag out some crazed bullshit at me.”
“That’s not it and you know it.”
“Oh, Oh, here we go again, on and on about what I know. What makes you think you have any idea what the hell I know? You’re just a God damned pain is what you are. Little games and tricks. Is that what makes you Happy? Is that what-

“You have to have something.”
-makes you scream in delight?”