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Little Darling: What does the storm say?

Space Man: Incoherent utterances of existential insecurity, uncertainty, frustration.

Little Darling: It’s not about the storm, is it? It’s the cowering in the cold.

Space Man: Yes, this daft inability to quell the flux, despite the knowledge that the flux exists only in the mind. I guess it’s like spreading a blanket over an incoming tsunami.

Little Darling: You need whisky.

Space Man: Haha! Yes.

Little Darling: You know Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?

Space Man: I do, but pray tell.

Little Darling: In Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Brick the drunkard says he’s waiting for the tick. He needs to drink until the tick happens. The tick in his head.

Space Man: Does the tick happen?

Little Darling: No, because his father forces him to stop.

———-

Little Darling: Rocket.

Space Man: Yes?

Little Darling: Don’t be afraid of your own mind. We’re all here together.

Space Man: Yet so far apart.

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