Real Life

Scene I

Roarke:

Have you heard of Tsai Loo?

Francis:

No.

Roarke:

He’s like, really big somewhere.

Francis:

An author?

Roarke:

Well, yea.

Francis:

Have you read him?

Roarke:

No. I’ve just read about him online. He’s big into like, gimmicks and stuff.

Francis:

What kinds?

Roarke:

Well he did a reading in Brooklyn last week and he read the same sentence like 1,000 times. 

Francis:

Which sentence?

Roarke:

It was that thing that the chimpanzee says in “The Lion King” when he holds Simba up after being born, or whatever. It’s in like Swahili or something.

Francis:

Ahhhhh sabenya, baba hee bee abow?

Roarke:

Yea, that one.

Francis:

Interesting. What else does he do?

Roarke:

He hired like two hundred people to follow him around one Friday night to go from restaurant to restaurant saying ‘table for two hundred’ and just get rejected over and over again. That ended up in like a tabloid or something. He’s pretty good at getting his name out there. It’s weird you haven’t heard of him.

Francis:

You seem to forget my policy: I only read dead authors; live authors are glib, mundane, and have nothing of consequence to say—after all, what could there be to say in this sea of vapidity? This world is awash with tweets and blurbs and…whatever. Why would I pay attention to today’s literati?

Roarke:

Want to get another cappuccino? I’m falling asleep. Maybe an espresso.

Francis:

You know, I drank so much espresso in Europe that I simply can’t stomach American coffee anymore. When I got into JFK from Dusseldorf I ordered a Starbucks grande, black, and nearly vomited all over my Versace. It’s just…Guatemala flavored water.  

Roarke (stifling a yawn):

How was Europe anyway? I saw you Checked In at a restaurant in Prague last month and felt jealous. Or something.

Francis:

Oh, you know. Europe.

Roarke:

Quite. Let’s?

Francis:

Let’s.