Salt is the only thing that makes anything real right now. Everything else tastes like cardboard and fluorescent lights. I told you I liked that place on the coast, but I'm lying. It was miserable. I hated the wind. I just wanted to sound like someone who actually had a life. Why do we do that? Pretend things aren't just until the sun comes up? It's exhausting. My teeth are actually vibrating.
It's the performance. We lie because the truth is too boring to look at in a room like this. And stop with the teeth, it's just the hum of the fridge. I didn't care about the coast. I knew you were lying the second you opened your mouth. Not anyway. My hands are vibrating too. Pass the salt.
The fridge isn't humming, it's the walls settling. And you knew? Of course you did. You just let me keep talking just to watch me sweat. Here, take the salt. It's probably stale anyway. I'm sick of pretending we're actually doing something useful here. You're too cynical, Kit. Or maybe you just enjoy watching people fall apart when the internal wiring is fried.
Cynicism is just being awake when everyone else is dreaming. I'm not watching you fall apart, I'm just waiting for the shift to end. The walls aren't settling, the building is old and cheap. You always look for deep meaning where there isn't any. It's just a room and bad coffee. The salt isn't stale, it's just bitter. Just like this conversation.
Bitter is better than nothing. At least it has a kick. You act like you're so much deeper because you're awake, but you're just as here, squinting at the walls. I used to think the building was haunted, but now I just see the rot in the wood. Though the coffee is rotting anyway. That's the joke, isn't it? We're just sitting in the dark waiting for a clock to change. It's pathetic.
It's not pathetic, it's just physics. You want a tragedy because a tragedy is easier to handle than a void. The rot is just wood, Lena. It doesn't care you're looking at it. I said the coffee was bad because it is, not for some joke. If you find this pathetic, go sit outside. The clock doesn't move faster. Drink your coffee or stop vibrating.
Don't tell me what to do. Physics is a lazy excuse people use when they're too tired to feel. I don't want a tragedy, I just want the room to stop feeling like it's closing in. You're so obsessed with being practical that you've forgotten how to have a reaction. And I'm not going outside. The air out there is probably worse than this bitterness. You think you're so grounded, but you are just wrapped in a cheap jacket.
The jacket is warm, that's what matters. You want a reaction? Fine. I'm bored of your voice. The room isn't closing in, you're just getting smaller inside it. We're both just sitting here because the air is stale and we haven't moved in three hours. You're making drama out of a draft. Pass the salt back. I need it.
Take it. It's not like it'll change the flavor. You're bored of my voice? Then leave. But you won't, because then you'd have to face the silence. You need me here to play the stoic while I'm the one actually struggling to breathe. It's pathetic how much you need control over a salt shaker.
I don't need you. I'm here because the schedule says. If I left, I'd be alone with my thoughts, which is worse than you. You're not struggling to breathe, you're just hyperventilating for attention. It's not about control, it's about having something to hold onto that isn't shifting. The salt is heavy. You're loud. Just shut up.
Shut up? Fine. You're the one who can't stop talking about physics. You want silence, go find it. I bet your thoughts are even drier than mine anyway, just lists of schedules and temperatures. You're so afraid of being human that it scares me. Everything is just a problem to be dealt with. Go ahead, choke on the salt. Maybe it'll finally give you something real to feel for once.
Human isn't a trophy, it's a chore. You think feeling everything constantly makes you special? It's just messy. I'm not afraid of anything, I'm just tired of the noise. You want me to bleed for paper wound because you can't make a decision. I won't choke on the salt. I'll just finish my coffee and keep staring at the dark. The light is flickering again.
The light is always flickering. It's dying, just like everything else. You talk about chores like they're a shield, but it's just a way to avoid looking at the fact that you're actually failing. Go ahead, stare at the dark until your eyes ache. It's the only thing you're actually good at. I think you're lying about being tired because you're hollow inside. It's different.
Hollow isn't a failure, it's just space. You keep trying to find a ghost in the machine because you alternative handle the tragedy. I'm not failing, I'm just existing without flair. The light is flickering because the ballast is shot, not because of some cosmic dying. You're so desperate to be poetic you can't see a lightbulb. Move the salt. I'm done with this.
Move it yourself. My hands aren't yours. You're so done, yet you're still sitting there, clutching that cup like it's a lifeline. You love your little explanations, "just a ballast," because you can't admit the world is cold and you hate it for it. You want to be a machine? Be one. Fine. Keep the salt. Keep the dark. It doesn't care if you stay anyway.
I don't hate the world, I just don't have the energy for it. You're obsessed with the idea that there's some secret underneath. There isn't. The world is just cold because it's not heated. I'm holding the cup because it's warm, not because it's a lifeline. You want a fight, I want to finish the shift. The salt is right there. Use it or dont.
I'm not using it. I want to watch you reach for it and fail. You're so focused on the logic, but you're just a feedback loop of boredom. The world is cold because you're closed, Kit. My sister's apartment smelled like this radiator fluid and even she had the decency to complain loudly. You? You'd just calculate the thermal conductivity of the air. It's pathetic. Move your hand or don't.
Your sister was probably just loud. I'm not calculating anything, I'm just sitting here. You bring up family into this just to make it feel like you're winning something. It's a cheap move. I'm not moving my hand. The radiator is leaking because the pipes are old, not because of some metaphor for us. You want a miracle? Go find one. The' is just salt.
She wasn't just loud, she was alive. But you wouldn't know that, would you? You'd just measure the puddle on the floor and worry about the carpet. You call it a cheap move because it's the only thing you can't have a formula for. Fine. Sit there with your leaking pipes. I'm going to finish my coffee and watch the light finally go out. It's the only honest thing happening in this room.
It won't go out. It's just a loose connection. You love waiting for a grand finale, but life is just a series of glitches. Your sister probably just complained about the weather. It's not that deep. Drink your cold coffee. I'm not watching the dark with you. I'm watching for the sun to come so I can leave this place.
You'll never leave it. You'll just find another room with another flickering light and another salt shaker. You think the sun is an exit strategy, but it's just more light to show the dust. My sister complained about the world because she actually cared about it. You just complain because it's inconvenient inconvenient. Drink your coffee. I'll be here when the reality hits and you realize you're still exactly where you started.
I am exactly where I started. That's the point. You think moving around is a revelation, but it's just a different set of floor tiles. Your sister cared because she had the time to. I complain because I have to stay awake. The dust is always there, whether you see it or not. Go ahead, wait for reality. I'm just going to finish this. Pass the sugar. It's getting cold.
Sugar? There's no sugar. I threw the box out hours. You're just reaching for ghosts now because your brain is fried. It's pathetic. You can't even handle the bitterness without a distraction. You're so desperate to make this sweet that you're hallucinating the ingredients. Sit there and drink your dirt water. The sun doesn't care if you're ready or not.
I didn't ask for sugar, I said the coffee was getting cold. You're making things up now. You're so desperate to be the martyr of this shift that you're inventing problems to fight. I'm not hallucinating, I'm just tired of your narrative. The sun comes up when it comes up, whether you're ready or not. Sit there and be miserable. It's exhausting.