rather than a dialogue we’ll have two monologues

no we can’t. really not? no. not a chance? no. you’ve heard it. nothing we can do. nothing to do with us.
the neighbour had left the house this morning. never arrived where he was expected. never returned to where no-one was waiting. never called. we couldn’t tell what happened.
so we’ll never hear the end of it, said sponge. no, we won’t.
the man had sat down of a metal chair outside the cafe. he waited. nobody came to take his orders, nobody joined his wait. the cafe was closed. the owner had declared himself bankrupt. why where the chairs still outside? why did everything look as if the cafe was still open for business? the man asked none of these questions, instead, after a brief glance at his watch, he got up and left and a while later somebody came to carried table and chairs inside as the owner had hung himself in the kitchen. no need to keep up appearances. the man walked for an hour or so until he came to a bridge.
symbolic that. indeed. will he cross it, said breadroll.
the man stood there and waited, crossing a bridge, he thought, very symbolic, who knows what’s to happen, let’s not get excited. he stood without moving and was forgotten about. there was no bridge anyway, but a river or a canal, or a fence. dust caught in his trouser legs and they blended in with the pavement. leaves gathered around him and he saw autumn turning to winter. people ceased running into him and paths showed around a heap of leaves.
that stuff happens only in poems, novels and films. true enough, said sponge. although i read a story once where a man had turned into a slug or a spider or something. some kind of creature. wasn’t a novel.
the man turned left. he walked until he came to a small square, lined with caf├ęs and shops, where waiters were serving people and a grocer spoke to a an old lady. i shall be off, the lady said, and left. she went to the butcher’s for pork chops and the butcher asked whether she could be interested in some lamb. no right now, she said, but later, perhaps. we’ll see how it goes. some customers showed more interest. the old lady left. she didn’t come back. she didn’t make pork chop. she fell on the way home. nothing that could be done. it was a beautiful funeral. most people said so. the priest said some improvements could have been made, some seemingly necessary changes in burial practices, long overdue but not yet implemented. not fully, a working group is currently reviewing the progress. said the priest, and he should know. after all he’s chairing the panel tasked with the supervision of the working group
so, no trace of the neighbour anymore. no. that’s a pity. it’s a shame.
we really can’t do anything. keep trying so.
i think it was a story, said sponge.

short won’t last long

short, snappy sentences, said sponge, get you places.
do you think so, said breadroll.
yes, said sponge, anyway, they’ll shorten the wait for the end.
they’ll be through the report in no time and want another one.

fate will not fail you

look, over there, said sponge and pointed. the innocent bystander. he’s going to get himself killed i bet. look, and he’s innocent.
not a baby though, said breadroll.
while being stared at and expecting to be asked for change or cigarettes the innocent bystander kept on going about his business in a clumsy, bystanderish way; eventually was killed during a possibly unrelated incident.

for criticism only will not do

we’ve got to go somewhere, said sponge.
pity we’re not celebrities, said breadroll, we could read in the papers how well we are doing.
pity, said sponge.
the station stretched from there to the very back, the platform that is, the actual station was spanning over platform and tracks, gun emplacements approved by the council. they would need if if a riotuos is introduced.

i will not sustain criticism

things got even more difficult, said sponge, you know, with us on the move, jolly moving as we are.
we are about to stop, said breadroll.
no we are not, said sponge, i will not err what’s the word …
sustain, said breadroll.
exactly.

there will be more rain eventually

it is raining, said sponge, raining rain. i thought that would be something different to say about the rain. but there is room for improvement, certainly.
a different shade of grey over there, said breadroll and pointed. ove there. they took a long time to examine the other shade with no conclusion.
maybe other drops, said sponge.

an egg he said won’t do you no harm

have one, he said, or two you may take, too. won’t do you no harm nor will it anyone else. egg really makes me feel bloated, said sponge, i must decline, it’s not because of the colesterol. and it will harm others i’m afraid. children particularily will suffer. in trenches or not, no difference.

brekst will know be the answer perhaps

i would be the one with the question i don’t remember, said herr brekst and sniffled. i have a poem and a question. no answer. what would you like first?
in terms of surrondings, our protagonists are very much floating nowhere at all; no location has been described or specified. hence the obsession with dialogue. if there was moreto see we would have more description of things to fill the lines and add some content.
i would go for the poem but the question has been long promised long time ago, said sponge.

brutality must not be too courteous or it will fail to convince

and what’s the shop bit, said blokk. he whacked breadroll, he whacked sponge. they did not have teeth to be kicked out but butts to be smacked heavily. after the blood had dried up breadroll said, you know your asskicking is kinda gay, as in homosexual, you better beef that up a bit you know. whilst block of wood saw where breadroll was coming from he could not fathom what he was talking about.
sponge was unimpressed. a rather sleeky way of not getting my drift, he said.

sponging corners will not work

what if we all sat peacefully together, said sponge. he waited.
that is reporting an internal process. we know how difficult that can be; shall i sing it ——> (makeshift melody): wHat i’hIf wee All sa’Tah ha- peAcefuLly tOgEthAah; but again: we know it does not work that way. he might not have intended to mean it that way, though; although we shouldn’t have phrased it so harshly.

just another definition will not change it

pronounced change of form and change of structure taking place within a comparatively short period of time otherwise known as a whiff, add of time as needed, as the changes undergone by an everyman in passing from the larval to the adult stage where he or she makes him- or indeed herself seen without warning. thus spoke sponge and he added that the roll should back indeed shortly.

free will

that shmock, sad block of wood. he had read this word in a novel and drew great pleasure from using it: shmock. he said it when sponge entered the room together with an unknown man. hi, said the man and extended his hand to have it shaken. tea, said block of wood and ignored the hand.
hi, said the man. his name is will, said sponge to block of wood, i met his outside. he needs to relax a little bit more but i think he’s alright.
will he stay, said block of wood, and the man replied, will, that’s me. i’m here to tell you about the free children of cod further and his son chippers spiced.
free, said block of wood, are you sure?
will was absolutely sure, he said there was no doubt about it, one would have to trust him on that and one would not be disappointed if one had the guts or grace to follow him.
nobody would. a disappointing day. — what a day indeed.

quota quotae we will need tits after all

to say tits surely is not as bad as showing them, said breadroll. i have none myself but if i had i would not have time for people objecting me from showing them. that’s me. i love to butter spread on me, too. that’s me, should do.
we could gp on about spreads without being overly offensive. we’ve got to show something, said sponge, and the plan to turn the office into a porn studio is an appealing one.
a plan, said block of wood. tea anyone.
we cannot turn anything into some other thing without approval, said breadroll.
and plan, said sponge, right. that episode did not work out as expected. i thought there would be more approar about the porn quote.

nothing will happen

and now? sponge seemed disgruntled. no proaction, no activity at all.
nobody moved.
see what i mean? sponge pointed.
nobody looked.
wouldn’t it be great to get away from it all? sponge longed and sighed. he nodded. we leave him to it. nothing will happen.

so what will it be then

i did come to ask a question, herr brekst said. a question or two, to be correct, a query.
breadroll and block of wood sat with the deflated presenter. sponge was nowhere to be seen (bathroom? my first guess.). a scene of tranquility and peace (still in bed?).
the presenter had told the others about the burning questions he still has to ask in the name of his audience (who will be rewarded with a portable barbeque kit – one for each)(is he hiding somewhere?) but unfortunately today did not seem to be a success (alright, i give up, where is he?).
i pulled a nose hair, the full length of it, herr brekst said, but that is although a success not the reason why i am here.

when will they ever live up to it

we should stick to the point, said sponge, i know i keep repeating myslef but the email i am getting do likewise.
myself it should be, said breadroll, you said …
i know, said sponge, bloody typo. —— long pause ——. the headlines are a real pain.
you don’t say, said breadroll.

but when you ask it obviously will end in disaster

sponge: that caught me cold.
breadroll: what? it is obvious me asking that so not might sound a bit boring.
sponge: obviously. they did not bother putting the yucca tree out. see —- [points, no tree, obviously] ——– and i’ve been told to shut up and not go on about it.
breadroll: right.
————–
sponge: what’ll we do now?

we will drop it before we have to pull out

sponge says: whatever, should i care. sausage digested, no need for details.
block of wood had spent the last few episodes rattling gold chains and howlings yeas occationally; wearing a rucksack as a hunch.

© the Book of Sponge and Others.