They sit in the café at the end of the pier.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“Late.”
“Where is she?” He asks.
“Late.”
“Where do you think she is?” he asks.
“She’s searching for sea shells by the sea shore… how the fuck should I know where she is? Let’s get some crabs.”
“She hates crabs,” he says.
“She’s not here.”
“A crab bit her once when she was young. Now she hates them. They make her retch,” he says.
“What’s a crab’s bite got to do with how good it tastes? They’re not gonna bite me, I’m going to bite them.”
“She hates crabs. She says they eat litter. She says they’re like rats,” he says.
“Like they’re worse than lobsters? I see her eating lobster whenever she get’s a chance.”
“Well lobsters are more expensive. They’re sort of designer rats,” he says. “That and she was never bit by a lobster.”
“Let’s get some crabs.”
What time is it?” he asks.
“Let’s chop down the tree and count its rings. How should I know?”
“Alright, alright, let’s get some crabs,” he says.
