Aubrey Plaza points out that there’s an understated female Olympian who owns a chain of about fifty pharmacies that are essentially equidistant, scattered around the continental United States. She says it in a way like we need to keep our eye on this athlete in case she’s setting up military bases that will help her play an integral role in an upcoming war.
Sam and her friends bring over freshly-baked bread, and I eat an unbuttered slice while consciously avoiding thoughts of the war. One of the friends doesn’t like the coffee that someone brought, so I offer to make her an espresso-based drink. She accepts, but she won’t tell me what kind she wants. This frustrates me to no end.
Sam notes that she’s surprised at how little Hallowe’en candy actually gets eaten, something she discovered after reading a longitudinal study based on actual reported numbers. I explain my theory as to why this is the case, which is that we can’t combine black liquorice with other candy. “I’m fine with the black ones, more than most people are, but they need to be kept separate.”
I immediately realize how my statement could come across with no context and so I attempt to retract it, which is impossible.
The war is now assumed to be well underway with no signs of ending anytime soon. Once a year, people on either side of a strategic border¹ toss items to the other side in a display of peace and friendship, showing that they don’t share the same views as their government. The tossed items are always white and are very similar to badminton birdies in that they can go far but then float gently to the ground so they don’t hurt the people on the opposite side. Each one has a message attached, containing a compliment or an inspirational quote, but never one of those boring platitudes.
A growing antiestablishment movement centres around music. A symbol of this defiance, Julian Casablancas is playing a show in the upstairs section of a dingy bar. Shagg has apparently acquired a bunch of tickets but acknowledges he may be on too many drugs to successfully take them out of his pocket and pass them out to us. I offer to do it for him and he accepts.
The band starts playing, so Peter and I go up to watch. Peter is holding two mallets that he’s swinging rather wildly at the keyboard and drums on the stage, while dancing crazily the whole time. Although Julian and the band are ignoring him, I take out my phone to record it because presumably at some point he’s going to get called out.
I take a photo and look at it on the screen – it’s only Peter in an empty room. I look up and that’s what I see in real life too.
¹ Editor’s note: Like the Berlin Wall]