| IV. SORRY LOAFING | |
| Steven: | Look, it’s a sorry loafing peace of meal halcyon cheap and soft brain surrender! High-strung, preserving effusion hoop – damp! When to toast Liberace sunrise? I’m valiant! Texas toast led in tow over by the brain? Imp–healthy? Is that what you’ve been thinking? Adept – adapt newsgroup, whence lingo horseshow hat! She saw! (You’ve enemies in your brain stem.) Me? I’m ugly, Katherine, but you’ve gold the sunrise? Liberace sunrise? Spittoon malfunctioning? Is that you wuz an unc cuz sez maybe… under umbrellas? Is that what you were this Brady Family Christmas? |
| Kate: | I’m not Christmas. |
| Steven: | No, you’re Calabi-Yau – Aching in fin shawl over Liberace sunrise – |
| Kate: | Stop it! Perhaps. Perhaps. With one sunrise, I’ll take eleven. One is like a custom, but inside, but inside, I even take eleven. And since I can, I can. (You, I gather, can’t.) Parse me the custom – I parse twelve, cut off one. Slice is an ideal, but twelve is ridiculous. I take eleven. (You, I gather, can’t.) But here, here, at one feet. Lachrymose. (I think it is one feet. One feet past eleven!) |
| Steven: | What are you mumbling? |
| Kate: | My toast to sunrise. |
| Steven: | What sunrise? |
| Kate: | In vanishing. In Vanishing Point, Montana. Great Plan of the Frame Robberies. Story at eleven. |
