Slowie is talking about ripped stockings.

"I sat with my ugliness for the day."

"Did he rip your stockings?"

"Yes he did, but that's beside the point, or maybe not. I realized after I slipped and spilled the shit I usually project onto others all over me for a day--that it indeed is ugliness that I easily give to others. This is what I discovered."

"What?"

"I am full of a ugliness."

"Do you mean shit? That seem to fit in this context."

"If I can get it off in time. If I can get it off me like a hot potato onto someone else I can see that it is not me. I see myself as pretty, pristine and the fucking world is against me. But slipping and spilling the ugliness on myself, not getting enough time to throw it at someone with a vileness means I am left with it. It means that the longer the minutes tick the more I will discover that I am the sole sponsor of it. I didn't know that. I didn't know blame, ridicule ugliness was coming from inside of me rather than someone making in me."

"What are we talking about?"

"We are talking about ripped stockings."

"Right."

Lanvin likes option #2

"You do not have as much control over your life as you think you do."

"What?"

"Well I will say me. I cannot escape the things that are happening to me."

"What?"

"I see that when I don't do anything. Even if I am not doing a damn thing, things still happen."

"Things like..."

"Negative or positive."

"What?"

"Anything."

"Like things?"

"Yes."

"OK."

"I can wake up not planning anything for the whole day, nothing. I could tell myself that I am not going to do anything. I am going to sit in my place and not do anything and things will still happen."

"That makes sense right?"

"What?"

"Something will always happen. Someone will come to knock on your door, your phone will ring."

"I think that's my point. I don't have to construct anything. I don't have to do any architecting of my day my week. Something comes remotely."

"You sound lazy."

"It's not like I wouldn't do anything when that phone rings, or someone comes knocking at my door. I just use them as a clue."

"A clue? What kind of clue?"

"A opportunity at a better option than what I'm constructing."

"How can you not design your future, or use a daily planner. That doesn't make any sense."

"I still have to go to the cleaners, that's not what I'm talking about. I can make money, do work tasks, but when it comes to feeling peaceful, when it comes to being really happy or experiencing myself as love. I don't know what I'm doin'. I don't have a clue.You think I'm happy?"

"I don't know."

"The problem isn't my boss, my parents or city traffic. The problem is the entire system I operate in. Everything. And it cannot be change from with in it. That wouldn't make sense."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything is what I mean."

"Are you trying to divorce yourself from life? Are we talking suicide? Because I don't want this conversation to turn dour. "

"What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"It's just duality, the world is duality and I am using the other option."

"Are we talking religion?"

"No."

"I just want to try the different one."

"The different one?"

"Yes."

"Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

"How? And remember I only have 15 minutes."

"Simple. By not constructing anything in my life. Then I start by not escaping whatever comes to me. It is like a kid who only can work the game pieces that he/or she is given. You have to be happy with that, and you have to trust that in the end it will be all you need to solve the puzzle. It's tough, but I have unique and extremely better days if I allow it."

"By being lazy?"

"Yeah. But what comes has my attention completely. My life's answers are in that knock or that phone call. Those interactions become extremely important. They are clues for more peace in the interim."

"So you are also becoming peaceful?"

"Yes. You like peace right?"

"Yeah it works."

"Of course."

Don't panic.

William likes a woman who eats meatloaf.

"I like a woman who eats meatloaf."

"What?"

"I mean isn't that sexy?"

"What?"

"A sexy woman who eats food that isn't that sexy."

"What are we talking about?"

"I just get tired of people who are trying to get it across to me that they eat safe, that they eat food that to them seems trendy, you know? They eat turkey. They don't eat red meat, or they don't eat much. They eat wheat bread with one hundred and twenty two grains, lot's of salads."

"They have to be neutral. I like mustard sandwiches."

"They have to be neutral. They have to draw me out. They can't present something that will spoil their campaign to continue the relationship."

"Campaign?"

"If they stay blank. If they stay neutral they stay safe. They can shape themselves to me and properly hide. It is a campaign to avoid commitment while committing to a miserable commitment."

"What are you saying?"

"I like a woman who eats meatloaf. A woman who eats liver. And she doesn't have a problem getting her hands down in the sirloin to make a misshapen hamburger on the stove."

"The kind that sticks to the top of the bread because she forgot to add the onions."

"Right."

"And the Egyptian romaine lettuce."

"Exactly. But she has to be cute."

"Right."

"This lifestyle somehow keeps her healthy, her skin radiant."

"Rotund doesn't work."

"Right. It tips the scale in the wrong direction and could indicate something else going on."

"Yes, someone becoming stout in the kitchen. Sizable."

"Sounds like you got yourself a little campaign going."

"I guess in the end I just like a woman who eats meatloaf."

William thinks in analogue.

"What?"

"I like it when a woman say's 'moreover'."

"Love cannot be served unless it is surrounded by tons and tons or appetizers, and then we still won't quite dig into it."

"I'm sorry?"

"Listen. I just have to have poetry. I have to watch passion filled movies with tragic endings. It is the drama that I personally love. I don't want the commitment of love. The finality of it. Even if it keeps me in a state of bliss; even if I am happy beyond measure. Even if I am married to ecstasy and we take our honeymoon in joy. For some reason that isn't entertaining enough for me. Why? Why is that?"

"She is analogue."

"Yeah. She's emotionally minimal. She doesn't understand what the fuss is about. She doesn't have time for the theatrics."

"What are you doin'?"

"What?"

"Are you losing it?"

"I don't know."

"Right."

"I feel like I've studied passion, or I've studied romance. It's like I have studied an entire culture of physical expression through it's tools such as music, art, literature and movies and I have idolized it. Just looked at it. Friended it on Facebook. But she takes it and just allows it to unlock her. She dives in and doesn't need to question it."

"What?"

"Huh?"

"What are you fretting?"

"Who the fuck uses fretting?"

"It is being used right here."

"She's in it. Close to the heartbeat, near the silence, and well, I haven't gotten in. Well I have, but I get out to talk about how I've gotten in."

"OK."

"Just talking about it here does it again."

"Oh no it's quite restful. It's almost peaceful. No need to believe in either side or any side. There is no cause. There's only yourself. The belief is in your precision."

William likes math.

"Do you understand?"

"Of course not. But it always seem to make sense."

"I don't have a place to put contempt or anger. I don't have a place in me to store something that I consider negative. It is like eating food that keeps coming up."

"Please. I'm eating food that naturally comes up, but the cooks plan it that way."

"I can't manipulate anyone with something that I have stored weeks ago. I'm faced with it. I have to work it out. As if we are back in high school in 5th hour math working on a word problem. It has to be worked out. I can't avoid it."

"Sounds like a busy moment."

"Yeah."

"It's too intense. I still say you need to relax."

"I wish."

"Right."

"You act as if I'm crazy? As if I'm doing something that's a waste of time."

"Well isn't? You seem disturbed. I say that unloving."

"Of course you do. But don't you understand? You're the one that is filling up with all these storage boxes of disparagements. You can't really work out a problem you are having with someone or something, so you attack a little and save some for later. What you are saving is weighing you down, eating away at your health and making you drive erratically. It allows you to punish people with every derivative of fear, and all I'm saying is I don't want any storage. I don't want to save anything. I want to work it out as these moments come up, so I don't see them again. What I find is that they are only my equations to deal with; they are none of your business even if it appears that way."

"None of my buisness?"

"Whatever problem you give me is only my buisness. In the end you get the better side of me because of it. You like pleasant right? Kindness? Compassion? Those are the things that you get as I take what belongs to me."

"I guess it goes down better than manipulation."

"And actually nourishes, which is what I can't say about this food."

"Apple fritters."

"Whatever problem I get is for my attention. For me to resolve. If you happen to be giving it to me it is just a coincidence."

"That could relax me."

"Exactly."

"So I can leave you with the check."

"Right."

Don't argue with reality.

Anthony believes banality is a ploy.

"Things are just happening. I am on one hand losing money over here, checks are coming in this way. Bills are asking to be paid. Relationships are either beginning or ending. Things are just happening in my life that seems like I don't have any control over."

"What?"

"Things are just happening."

"What do you mean?"

"My life. There doesn't seem to be any control. I don't even know how the hell I got here. Think about it, we just appeared, and not only that we just have this life. We appear out of nowhere and we got to--all of a sudden, walk a dog. Doesn't it seem strange."

"I don't know."

"Aren't you curious?"

"I guess. Should I be?"

"I don't know. But you will agree that it seems like we just appeared right? Like all of a sudden we are picking up dog shit in the park. Sitting on a bus reading the paper."

"Appeared?"

"Yeah. No rhyme or reason really. And I'm just saying let's not look at the religious thing for a moment. let's not get into the whole created thing or whatever. Let's just look at right now. If you look at your life without religion; whatever you believe. You are basically sitting on a bus reading the paper or picking up dog shit."

"I don't have a dog."

"I didn't say you did, I am just trying to find something that seems strange that we do."

"OK."

"Whoever created us, or whatever happened to us to make us here right now we are not concerned with that when it comes to our banal tasks, right? You are not thinking about God as you grout your tile right? Saying: 'This is why you put me here....ah to grout this tile, to put Comet in this tub.' your not saying that."

"No I got to grout this fucking tile."

"Why?"

"Because this shit is dirty."

"I mean why? When you don't even know why you are even here? You appeared out of nowhere and now you are grouting tile, for no reason other than that shit is dirty. What the hell is wrong with you!"

"There is nothing wrong with me!"

"My point is we are just doing stuff in between while we are waiting on something to happen to us. We are waiting on something to come along that really needs our attention. Something that could explain what they hell we are here for that we perhaps don't give it the right attention so we can get back to grouting our tile. "

"What?"

"We are not in control of anything. We have theories of why we got here, but we are not completely sure."

"What's your point?"

"My point is something else in control while we pick up dog shit, grout tile and write checks, and guess what? I am happy about that. That makes me feel more comfortable. I listen when experiences come to me out of my control, because when I am in charge I am doing an incredible amount of daily stupid shit. I'm walking a dog in the rain in a house coat and construction boots."

"Or talking to me."

"Right."

Anthony wants to know more than he wants a blow job.

"Like the cover of darkness. As if she was a fugitive from somewhere or better yet something."

"What?"

"It was weird at first."

"What are we talking about?"

"We are talking about some women I have come into contact with, that with their open sexual ambivalence I have become scared, anxiety ridden and finally angry."

"You mean they have offered you sex."

"Yeah."

"What are we talking about here."

"We are talking about what sexual offerings can do to a man. It is not easy in all cases."

"Are you sure?"

"I hate what it does to me sometimes. I feel like a co conspirator to the day their punishment begins. Don't you see in some women who are just using you to hide, or using you to carry out some punishment in hard core fashion?"

"Not sure I'm seeing the problem there. Plus I'm not a counselor in the bedroom."

"You know? It really bothers me that I enjoy it."

"Of course."

"You know what? It bothers me that I have something in me where this can match up nicely with. I hate that their need for a debasement intrigues me."

"You make it sound wrong."

"You know, now that I think about it, I find that it is just a huge sensation a table size Hostess cupcake that I need to hurry up and consume without thinking, just like they need to hurry up and distract me to get me to believe that I was the only author of this late night visit. My desire is the only thing that is making them do this. I am the man, so their responsibility will easily disappear just on that fact."

"Is it really that serious?"

"It is very serious. This late night visit under the cloak of bad judgment is also ground zero for vulnerability, love and connectedness that two people with-- in most cases, two different reasons are trying their Goddamness to leap over. To go around by any means. They can't allow their conscience to catch up. "

"And there you are with your fucking flash light in the bedroom."

"Better yet trying to understand. I just want to understand."

"At 2am Understanding is for the sexually deprived, idiot savants and philosophy majors."

"I just want to know."

"And I will take the huddled masses."

William is not up for the pursuit.

"We are asking the wrong questions."

"Me?"

"People are beyond sad. They are disorientated, overwhelmed."

"Not whelmed?"

"No. They are also a little lost, edgy, anxiety ridden, and robbed of something."

"Seems like you could go on."

"I can. You can look into their eyes. They dart, fish around, try not to reveal that they don't quite know what to say next unless you give them cues. Unless you give them a conversation that makes all the useless information they have stored seem relevant."

"That seems angry. I like talking about sandwiches. Bread spreads."

"I know you do. I'm just saying, people are sad. We know something is wrong and we can't quite put our finger on it. We know what we are doing day- in- and day out is not really adding up to anything. We are not gaining any ground by the time we excitingly reach another Friday. We are in the same place. Like there is a hole in us, and we keep pouring some thing into it rather than look for ways to ultimately repair it. I guess we just can't realize that there is something crazy about always being in pursuit of what settles us for the moment, what makes us feel relieved for just a few minutes. The pursuit of unhappiness. Why is that normal? We are asking the wrong questions."

"What should I be asking?"

"Ah it's metaphorical. Just looking at all of this something beings to happen. Something that doesn't quite make Friday so exciting anymore."

"What do you like on your sandwich?"

"Bacon."

"OK."