— Kevin Hobster 🍼 (@KevinHobster) November 1, 2018
“Bishop Loughlin,” said Pal.
“No, no,” said the clown with the toothpick dangling from his mouth. “Molloy.”
“Never been,” said Pal.
“They have a cool flag,” said the clown with no name.
“Ate pancakes on Sunday,” said Pal. “Syrup is devil juice.”
“Whoever produced this song really nutted it,” said Pal.
“It’s um … hold on I — I think I read this yesterday,” said the clown with the Shelley Berman glasses on.
“What?” asked Pal, loudly.
“It’s the guy who used to date the lady who did the HBO thing on ladies.”
“Yeah, Jack Antonoff.”
“Kid from Jersey.”
“Found this in an interview with Wim Wenders,” said Pal. “Imagine having that name — sounds wonderful, really.”
“He said he doesn’t think the photos we take today that aren’t printed out will be seen by anyone in the future.”
— CSPAN (@cspan) September 5, 2018
“You know there’s auctioneer school? You have to go to a special school to become an auctioneer.” said Pal.
“They teach you how to talk fast?” asked the clown with no name.
“This is why I don’t play basketball anymore — at the Y,” said Pal.
“No one screens,” said the clown with the hoarse voice.” And there’s more than one type of screen. There’s many.”
“Maybe more than any other major sport, basketball is like … viewed as checkers, when it’s really chess.”
“Found it here,” said Pal.
“Wrote a poem last night, Pal,” said the clown with no name.
AC it smells like Atlantic City kinda, musty and taffy, makes you think of fun and smushed cigs on splintered boards and stagnant pools and ripped felt and fountains that don't work anymore, and seagulls that screamed when you woke up hungover with a bucket of coins in the bed, and that ocean water you captured in a pickle jar you washed out then brought to the beach and knelt in the breaking wet salt rush and scooped as a face you still try to forget smiled so big at you from the two chairs you shared in the sand