They have little parachutes
—Did I hear...?
—Did you hear!
—What?! Stop shouting at me. Also stop hitting me like that with your finger.
—OK OK. Did you hear that His His-ness was cleaning out of his office and found all this old stuff that he wrote years ago? Stuff that I and thou assumed was lost to the ages.
—What's it like?
—Most of it's totally inscrutable but some of it's great.
—Well, not great, but good.
—I can't wait to see it.
—Maybe not exactly good, but—how to say—somewhat interesting. That counts, no?
—In this day and age?
—No. [Cue: theremin.]
—How about in the past?
—Say, the 19th century?
—Yes, in the 19th century, particularly in Spain, that would count for something.
—Let me read you something he wrote.
—Please don't. I'm late for my thing.
—Exercise thing, where I climb a wall and my trainer throws cats at me.
—Kittens. Don't worry. They have little parachutes so they don't get hurt when they fall. Though some do.
—Oh OK. I won't read it. Oh! Can I type it out and fax it to you?
—YES! I have my fax right here.
—That little thing?
—It folds out. [Folds it out.] See?
—Ja. OK. Let me first copy it onto an 8 1/2 x 11 sheet. Then I'll feed it through the fax. What's your number?
—Area code 000, country code 5, city code 1.555, then 3, then 435698, then wait for the tone and then it's 3989.
—Got it. Here goes.
—And then when you hear another tone, you punch in your birth year.
—Oh cool. My mini foldout fax machine is whirring. OK. Here it comes! [Several minutes pass as gray sheets emerge.]
TO BE CONTINUED