Sam
The chandelier’s dust bunnies are forming a dense, gray felt. Like a fungal colony. Anyway, this place. Look. It says “Spicy Ambition” on the menu. For soup. Whose job was this? Translating it? They must have been drunk. Or asleep.
Open by noticing something about this place that nobody would care about. Push off from this if it helps: a badly translated menu.
samQwen3.6-35B-A3B-8bit
marcQwen3.6-35B-A3B-8bit
modestuck
twistWrong Person
voices Concrete
Marc
Probably Dave from accounting. He thinks he’s funny. Ordered that “Spicy Ambition” yesterday. Came out lukewarm and tasted like dishwater and regret. He’s been staring at the wall for an hour. Don’t ask him. He’s not here. He’s at home, drinking cheap whiskey.
Sam
Dave. Right. Guy’s a ghost. Anyway, this table wobbles. I put my coaster under the leg, but it just slides off. Like everything else in this room. Try not to spill your drink. It’s already stained the wood.
Marc
I didn’t order a drink. I’m not drinking anything in this dump. That stain is from last week. Someone spilled cheap gin on it. Or maybe it’s just rot. The wood is soft as sponge cake. Dave’s coaster is sliding too. He’s not paying attention. He’s thinking about his divorce. Or maybe he’s just waiting for the bus that never comes.
Sam
Dave’s staring at his plate. Always has been. That stain is definitely gin. Smells like it too, if you lean in close. Like flowers and bad decisions. I think I’ll just sit here. It’s safer. Less thinking required.
Marc
I’m not leaning in. I don’t want gin on my shirt. The patron’s on break. I’ve been standing here since ten. My feet hurt. That plate’s cold. Dave’s eye twitching. Look at it. Jittery little nerve. Like a trapped fly. I should tell him to stop. But I’m tired. Let him twitch. It’s better than talking.
Sam
Your feet hurting? I’ve got blisters. Felt like hot coins all morning. Dave’s twitching is worse than the noise. At least the noise stops. That fly’s dead, Marc. Look. It’s just muscle memory now. Shaking, but empty. Makes me nervous. Makes me want to check my own pulse.
Marc
Dave’s not twitching. He’s just breathing shallow. You’re imagining it. I checked my pulse too. Fast. Because of the gin smell. It’s haunting the upholstery. I need to lie down. The floor looks clean. Dull gray. Like the dust. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes. Five minutes. That’s all.
Sam
Don’t. Dave’ll think you’re dead. Or worse, that you’re pretending. The floor’s not clean. It’s just darker. I saw a gum wrapper under the seat yesterday. Sticky. I’ll keep watch. You close your eyes. But don’t snore. I can’t deal with Dave’s twitching and your breathing.
Marc
I don’t snore. I’ve never snored. Dave’s just a rumor. There’s no Dave. I remember signing him out. Tuesday. He took the bus. You’re seeing things. The gum wrapper is under your shoe. Look. It’s red. Cherry flavor. Sticky as hell. My foot hurts too. I kicked the leg. Hard. The wobble’s gone. Or maybe the table broke.
Sam
No Dave. Right. Makes sense. Gaps in memory. I hate gaps. And you kicked the table? Stupid. Now it’s broken. Just like my toe. I think I bruised it. You’re enjoying this. The silence is better now. Dead quiet. Except for that buzzing light. Can’t you hear it?
Marc
Buzzing. Like a mosquito in the ear. It’s the light fixture. Flickering. Annoying. I hate it. My toe hurts too. From kicking the table. Stupid. Yeah. I did that. On purpose. Or maybe I slipped. Doesn’t matter. The silence is loud. Dave’s not here. You’re alone. With the buzzing. And the gum wrapper. Under your shoe. Kick it off.
Sam
Kick it? It’s stuck. Like everything else. The light’s buzzing louder. Or maybe it’s my head. You kicked the table on purpose? That’s weird. Even for you. I hate this place. The air’s stale. Smells like old paper and regret. Let’s just sit here. Until the light stops. Or breaks.
Marc
Stale air. Yeah. Tastes like dust. You’re right. Kicking it was pointless. Table’s still wobbling. Or is it? My toe throbs. Thump. Thump. The buzzing is getting in my teeth. I hate teeth. You want to sit? Fine. Sit. But don’t blame me when the light explodes. It’s old. Like everything here. Just stare at the stain. Ignore the buzzing. Ignore the toe.
Sam
Staring. The stain looks like Italy. Or a lung. Hard to tell. My toe’s throbbing too. Syncopated. Like a bad drum solo. I’m done talking. My throat’s dry. Taste like copper. The light flickers. Harder. Don’t look at it. Look at the floor. It’s ugly, but it’s quiet.
Marc
Copper taste. Right. My mouth’s dry too. Like sucking on a penny. The stain really does look like Tuscany. Or necrotic tissue. Hard to decide. My toe’s throbbing in time with the buzz. Thump-thump. Ugly floor. Gray. Cracked. Staring at it helps. Stops the light from burning holes in my retina. Just look down. Don’t look up. Don’t think about Dave. There is no Dave. Just the stain. And the pain.
Sam
The light just snapped. Blackout. Good. My eyes hurt. I can’t see the stain anymore. Just the dark. It’s heavy. Like wet wool. Your toe’s still throbbing? I can’t hear it anymore. Silence is worse though. At least the buzzing was annoying. Now it’s just... waiting. For what?
Marc
My toe is throbbing. Good. Keeps me here. Darkness is heavy. Wet wool. I can’t see your face. Or the table. Or the stain. It’s just... black. Waiting. For the bulb to fry. Or for Dave to come back. I hope he doesn’t. I hope he’s stuck on the 4:15. Forever. Silence is loud. Louder than the buzz. My throat’s dry. Taste like copper. And dust.
Sam
Dave’s not coming. He’s gone. Or never was. My mouth feels like sandpaper. I want water. But there’s nothing. Just the dark. And the throb. Thump. Thump. It’s getting louder. Can you hear it? Or is it just me? I’m scared of the dark. But I’m more scared of the light coming back.
Marc
It’s me. The throb. My heart. Not Dave’s. He’s gone. Or never was. Water’s in the tap. But the pipes are dry. Rusted shut. The dark’s fine. Dark is honest. Light lies. It promises soup. It delivers dust. My toe’s going numb. Good. Numb means it’ll stop hurting. Eventually. Or maybe I’ll lose the foot. The hospital’s closed. Or maybe it’s still open. I can’t see the sign. Don’t look. Just wait.
Sam
Wait for what? The pipes aren’t gonna fill. I’m thirsty. Really thirsty. My tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth. You say Dave’s never been. I don’t believe you. People don’t just vanish into dust. They leave receipts. Explode. I hate this. I hate the taste. Make a sound, Marc. Anything.
Marc
Make a sound. I can’t. Throat’s closed. Like the pipes. You want receipts? Dave left a coaster. It’s under your shoe. Cherry gum. Sticky. Don’t look at it. It’s dark. My toe’s gone. Numb. Dead weight. I can feel the throb in my hand now. Pulse. Pulse. Don’t scream. It’ll draw the light back. Just sit. Let the thirst kill you. It’s faster than waiting.
Sam
Coaster’s under my shoe. Sticky. Cherry. I’m not looking. Can’t move. Hand’s pulsing. Hard. Like a second heart. Thirst is worse. Tongue swollen. Dark is thick. Breathing is hard. Don’t scream. Can’t. Throat sealed. Just pulse. And dark. And gum. Under foot. Heavy.
Marc
Cherry gum. Synthetic. Like the air. My hand’s pulsing too. Veins popping. Don’t look. Just feel the throb. It’s rhythmic. Like a warning. Or a countdown. The dark is pressing in. Heavy. Wet wool. I can’t breathe. Throat sealed. Like the pipes. Dave’s coaster is under your shoe. Sticky. Cherry. Don’t move. Just pulse. And wait. For the light to come back. Or for the end. Whichever comes first.
Sam
Cherry. Artificial. Tastes like chemicals and lies. I can’t move my foot. The gum’s fused to the sole. Like the silence. My hand is throbbing so hard it hurts to hold it still. Pulse. Pulse. Dark’s getting heavier. Can’t breathe. Throat’s clamped shut. Just wait. For the end. Or the light. Whichever breaks first.
Marc
Artificial. Yeah. Like the air. My throat’s dry. Dust. Can’t swallow. Pulse in the wrist. Violent. Like it wants out. The dark is thick. Suffocating. I can’t see my hand. Just feel the throb. Dave’s coaster. Under your foot. Sticky. Cherry. Lies. Waiting. For the light. Or the dark to win. Neither looks good. My toe’s numb. Good. Numb is better than pain. Just pulse. And wait.
Sam
Can’t swallow. Dry. Just pulse. Pulse. Dark’s winning. Light’s just a memory. Sticky gum holding me down. Dave’s coaster. Cherry lies. Throat’s closed. Pipes rusted. Can’t scream. Can’t move. Just throb. And wait. For nothing. For everything. It’s quiet now. Too quiet.
Marc
Quiet is loud. My ear is ringing. High pitch. Like a kettle. Dry throat. Can’t swallow. Pulse in the wrist. Violent. Dave’s coaster is still under your shoe. Sticky. Cherry. Lies. Dark is heavy. Wet wool. I can’t move. Can’t scream. Just throb. And wait. For the light. Or the end. Whichever breaks first. My toe is numb. Good.
Sam
Ring. High. Like a needle in the ear. Can’t stand it. Pulse in wrist. Mine. Not Dave’s. Coaster’s stuck. Gum hardened. Dark’s solid now. Wool tangling ankles. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. Just listen to the ring. Wait for the break. Or the rot.
Marc
Ring. Needle. I’m biting my tongue. Sharp pain. Drowns it out. Blood taste. Iron. Better than copper. Gum hardened. Good. Better than sticky. Wool tangling. Tight. Stranglehold. I like it. Safe. Dark’s solid. Real. No more light lies. No more buzzing. Just the ring. And the pulse. And the taste of blood. Dave’s coaster is gone. Swallowed by the dark. Or my shoe. Doesn’t matter. I’m still here. Throbbing. Waiting.
Sam
Blood. Iron. Sharp. Good. Drowns the ring. Just for a second. Wool’s tight. Choking. But safe. No more lies. Coaster gone. Dark won. I’m still here. Throbbing. Waiting. For what? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. My tongue hurts. Bleeding. Good. Real.
Marc
Iron taste. Real. Better than the gin stain. Wool is suffocating. Good. Keeps the air out. Keeps the lies in. My tongue is raw. Bleeding. You’re right. It’s real. The ring is fading. Drowned by the throb. Dave’s coaster is gone. Swallowed. Or lost. Doesn’t matter. We’re here. Bleeding. Waiting. For nothing. Or everything. Just pulse. And bleed.