[GARY sits on one end of the booth in a pink tuxedo. GRUFF STOVER sits on the other side of the booth in red and green flannel. ARYANA between them, back to the window, wearing a chain mail pant suit. GRUFF pushes a bowl of fruit towards GARY. A chair is pulled up to the front of the booth, but no one sits there. His is an absence that weighs upon us all.]
Gary: No.
Gruff: You have to eat healthy.
Gary: The experience of teeth biting into a banana is like that of sinking your boots into thick mud.
Gruff: You’ve been impossible since you took up poetry.
Aryana: Try an apple.
Gary: Don’t kid me. Snow White went down to an apple. Apples kill.
Gruff: It’s like you’re morally opposed to fruit.
Gary: My colon is. It’s not my fault media has conditioned me to not to eat things that fall dead off of trees. Between fairy tale poisons and razor blades hidden in rinds, fruit isn’t trustworthy.
Aryana: He has a point. There’s no haunted candy.
Gruff: Maybe America would lose weight if there were more stories about evil. Butterfingers.
Gary: I doubt that would do it.
Aryana: Also, Gary’s British.
Gruff: Venomous Mars Bars, then.
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