Digital Ischemia

16/07/2017

Cold Call: Day 3

A series of telephone conversations where truth comes away in layers – begins at Cold Call: Day 1

SOUND: PHONE RINGS, REPEAT, REPEAT
LACRIMOSA: Hello?
SìMON: (D) Hello. It’s me: Simon, Sìmon, whatever.
LACRIMOSA: You’re calling from a different number.
SìMON: You werenae answering the other one.
LACRIMOSA: Ah, the stalker’s logic. What’s going on out there in the world?
SìMON: No idea.
LACRIMOSA: The line’s too clear for you to be calling from the European Space Station.
SìMON: Spaceman Spiff spirals into a terminal retrograde orbit of the planet Zaikon, his thruster engines vaporised by rebel Xanthamum fighters…
LACRIMOSA: Oh, I love Calvin and Hobbes – so brilliantly bittersweet.
SìMON: I love how in this six-year-old’s world his thoughts came out pure philosophy.
LACRIMOSA: I learned the word ‘trenchant’ from that. What was the deal with the merchandise again?
SìMON: Bill Watterson was—is a man of deep principles; he just wouldnae sign aff on any. It was a feature of the materialist world he just couldnae abide.
LACRIMOSA: The plastic tatterers must’ve been all over him, slavering.
SìMON: Tatterers!?
LACRIMOSA: Plastic tat – our plastic, toxic world. I used to work in a lab where they were researching bacteria that would digest plastic – biodegrade it to something harmless. I wonder what happened to that?
SìMON: Probably realised bacteria that could eat plastic wouldnae stop there. You know, they’d froth everywhere; they’d be at everything plastic. Bacteria don’t know what we still want and what’s waste.
LACRIMOSA: Right enough: suddenly your phone’s dust, your furnishings are crumbling, vehicles and buildings melting. Actually, that’d be brilliant…
SìMON: Did you wear a lab coat?
LACRIMOSA: You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?
SìMON: I held myself back a whole thirty seconds!
LACRIMOSA: If I tell you that, and about the safety goggles, I’ll have to charge you.
SìMON: Whouf, steady on.
LACRIMOSA: I was just enjoying my post-apocalyptic fantasy but you had to ruin it.
SìMON: If I could flee up to the moon and leave this shit heap behind…
LACRIMOSA: What’s your work?
SìMON: Security.
LACRIMOSA: That was succinct.
SìMON: It wasnae a tough question. And that’s all there is to it.
LACRIMOSA: Must be dull if you’re moon-gazing and blethering on the phone.
SìMON: That’s what you get paid for.
LACRIMOSA: Aye, time’s up.

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