Bartone, what are you doing tonight? Nothing. What's up? Lets go to K&M. The conversation lasted only a short time, and took on a matter of fact tone, but with a certain expectation in each of the voices. Cool. Artaud killed the call by pressing the red phone icon on his cell. He felt a certain excitement seeing Bartone, and now the plan was fixed, done, all set, he looked forward to go.
Bartone ordered two PBRs. Cheers. Yeah. The aluminum cans touched bottoms and each slurped down a taste of the cold alcohol. The conversation started like a slow boxing match, with careful punches to test the defense of the opponent, dancing around the ring to avoid real blows. Nothing much, Artaud replied. How about you. Well you know, the same, busy, it's crazy. I have this great idea. Maybe they got tired and dropped their guard. Ah, I love it, it reminds me of Derrida, in a way. I was throwing some thoughts down myself the other day. Artaud and Bartone each recalled some of their thoughts that week. And? Not sure. Bartone grinned to display compassion. Ah fuck. Artaud joined in. You know what. What. There's just too much, and it's always the same crap. Right. Artaud had once before gone through a similar event, and he didn't feel like having to experience it from the beginning all over again. Let's agree on certain parameters before though. The conversation gained some substance. I agree. But then lost promise again. Bartone and Artaud ordered another pair of PBRs. The conversation continued this way for some time until each went home and agreed to call the other again when something was going on. Later Artaud. Yeah, see you, Artaud replied, while Bartone turned in the direction of Bedford.
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