Colm Doherty: I was too harsh yesterday.
Pádraic Súilleabháin: Yesterday, he says! I know well you was too harsh yesterday.
Colm Doherty: I just... I just have this tremendous sense of time slipping away on me, Padraic. And I think I need to spend the time I have left thinking and composing. Just trying not to listen to any more of the dull things you have to say for yourself. But I am sorry about it. I am, like.
Pádraic Súilleabháin: Are you dying?
Colm Doherty: No, I'm not dying.
Pádraic Súilleabháin: But then you have loads of time.
Colm Doherty: For chatting?
Pádraic Súilleabháin: Aye.
Colm Doherty: For aimless chatting?
Pádraic Súilleabháin: Not for aimless chatting. For good, normal chatting.
Colm Doherty: So we'll keep aimlessly chatting and my life will keep on dwindling. And in 12 years, I'll die with nothin' to show for it, bar the chats I've had with a limited man, is that it?
Pádraic Súilleabháin: I said, "not aimless chatting" I said "Good, normal chatting."
Colm Doherty: The other night, two hours, you spent talking to me about the things you found in your little donkey's shite that day. Two hours, Padraic. I timed it.
Pádraic Súilleabháin: Well it wasn't me little donkey's shite, was it? It was me pony's shite. Which shows how much you were listenin'.
Colm Doherty: None of it helps me. Do you understand? None of it helps me.
Pádraic Súilleabháin: [after Colm leaves] We'll just talk about something else, then!
|