THE BUMS ARE HAVING A DIALOGUE
B 1: I mistrust people who say they have a good memory.
B 2: Did I say that?
B 1: No, you didn't, I'm just speaking in general.
B 2: I prefer when you're specific.
B 1: Okay, but still I mistrust people who . . .
B 2: I heard you the first time.
B 1: Alright, alright! You don't have to get up on your high horse.
B 2: And why, may I ask, Mon Cher Ami, do you mistrust those who . . .
B 1: It's obvious. A guy with a good memory does not remember anything because he never forgets anything.
B 2: I never thought of that.
B 1: You see what I mean. That's why I do all the thinking and all the remembering for both of us.
B 2: I wouldn't go that far.
B 1: I'll go as far as I want, and if Monsieur doesn't like it he can shove it.
B 2: Now look who is getting pissed.
B 1: You made me forget what I wanted to say.
B 2: You were saying that people with a good memory cannot . . .
B 1: Oh yes. Well . . .
B 2: But suppose, somehow, the guy who has such a great memory suddenly forgets something, or for that matter everything he knows.
B 1: That's not possible because his great memory would not let him forget.
B 2: Suppose he gets hit on the head by a mugg e r, or has a car accident and bangs his head on the dashboard, or he falls off a tree and hits his head on a rock, or his wife hits him on the head with a pot because she found out he was screwing around, I don't know, there are so many ways you can get hit on the head.
B 1: Still, it's impossible . . .
B 2: Let's say he suffers total amnesia.
B 1: Why do you always have to contradict me.
B 2: Because I'm smarter than you.
B 1: Screw you!

***

THE ELECTROCARDIOGRAM OF WRITING
Sam: Tragic, you say, the certitude that all of us will die. No, banal rather. You see, my dear friend, these lines of writing running before your eyes hold simultaneously by their regularity of an electro-cardiogram the unexpected meaning that will abolish them. Yes, these pathetic lines a re flat and trivial - almost as disgusting as the idea of our own death.

Ace: But more disturbing is the probability of what can be called in our miserable time the specific death of the human race. You see, it is the possibility of the disappearance of the entire species that is tragic. For unlike the certitude of our own personal death we cannot calculate the probability of universal death even though the event is certainly possible.

Sam: Wow, are we serious and depressed today.

Ace: No more than usual.

* * *

THE EXCAVOTION OF THE GRAVEDOGGERS
[sic continude]
2.
wch went somting like this:
1- Hey
2- oye
1- We're dead
2- not yet
1- For all practical purpoise
2- hey!
1- wha?
2- doesn't this hole remin you of sumin?
1- yr wife?
2- my ass yr wife, guess again
1- I'm tooo old
2- too old to gues?
1- i guess
2- it reminds me of how we met
1- oh that the shallow foxhole just south ofd the han river on the wouthtewrn outshirts of yongdong po where I spotted it first it being at the time occupied by as it turedn outr as I sleid in undwr a hail of gunfire the warm corpse of NK regukar, a big fellow & having shover hiomn out * then motionedl & screamed for you to joing llllme, sopeakin then in very bad broken inglsh & given the ehat Y fire of the ocassion mixed with utterance in my native tongues, somentrhing like Ve n hey ici GI (ectra) &then you rioled in shovel first & togeter we dug our first grave
2- you rmember
1- not much

INTERVIEW WITH GODOT
Ace: Do you know that I once did an interview with Godot.
Sam: You're kidding. All my life I've been trying to get an interview with he. I can't find him. Ace: It was easy. I just called him, and he said Ok. But he warned me that he had no views to i n t e r. D i d n 't matter to me. I'm not really interested in his views.
Sam: What did you ask him?
Ace: First I asked him how old he is. He just shrugged his shoulders sort of saying he didn't know.
Sam: Makes sense to me. I think he's immortal.
Ace: Then I asked him what he did for a living. Again same shrug of the shoulders.
Sam: Dumb question my Dear Ace. Obviously Godot is unemployed. He is his own boss.
Ace: I know that, but I thought I'd ask anyway. One never knows. Then I asked him if he could tell me where he lives. This time he didn't shrug his shoulders, he just smiled as if to tell me, does one really know where one lives.
Sam: Old Godot may be smarter than we think. So far you didn't reveal anything.
Ace: I was not interviewing him to reveal anything. I just wanted to see if he has a beard.
Sam: Does he?
Ace: Not that day. He was clean shaved.
Sam: Well, well. Are you sure it was Godot?
Ace: Damn right I'm sure. How many Godots do you think there are in the world?
Sam: One is enough. That's for damn sure.
A c e : I had to ask him if he could tell me when he will come. This time he raised his hands in the air to indicate that he had no idea.
Sam: Not surprising.
Ace: It was getting hopeless. But I knew that in advance. Finally, I couldn't resist, I asked him if he ever fucks.
Sam: Come on, you didn't ask him that?
Ace: Yes, I did. And do you know what he answered. I used to could.
Sam: I used to could. They speak like that in Texas. Don't tell me Godot is from Texas.
Ace: That would be a real bummer.

* * *