the photographers

"That’s what it's supposed to do," he says.

"It's supposed to make me want to give up?" she says.

"Yep," he says

"But why? That doesn't make sense," she says.

"Sure it does. It keeps you pacified," he says, "you don't want to do anything with yourself. And neither do I"

"I want to do things. I want to go places and see things and take wonderful photographs and feel things," she says, "you want to do things. You write."

"Ok, we want to do things, but we don’t," he says.

"You're right," she says, "we just sit around and do the same things days after day after day. It's sickening."

"I want to write, and you want to take photos, and we both want to see and do and feel things, but by the time five o'clock rolls around we're beat. The couch calls out and usually gets an answer," he says.

"I never thought it was going to turn out this way. Why didn't our parents warn us?" she says.

"So we could stay children for as long as possible," he says, "hey, look at these two assholes."

Walking along the train tracks are two guys with big flashy cameras. One has curly brown hair like a poodle. Its frizziness is noticeable from the distance. The other is just a normal guy. You see him all the time.

"How come they're assholes?" she says.

"I'm a fucking fashion shoot," he says.

"I don't think it's a fashion shoot," she says.

"Yeah, you're probably right. I thought I saw the one guy taking his shirt off and posing out. But I think I was wrong," he says.

"I didn't see that," she says.

"It was before I pointed them out," he says.

"If you saw that how come you didn't tell me," she says.

"I wanted to keep it all to myself. I'm selfish like that," he says.

"You admitted it," she says.

She points her pointer finger in his face and laughs.

He tires to bite her finger off.

They both laugh.

One of the photographers points his big flashy camera in the direction of the man and woman. The man shoots him the finger.

"Those fuckers are taking our picture," he says.

"They should've asked," she says," I always ask."

"It's the right thing to do," he says.

The photographer with the poodle hair doesn't like that the man is giving him the finger. He affects the 'what the fuck buddy' posture of arms at either side, palms out slightly raised away from the body.

"What's that guy's problem," she says.

"I don't think he likes it that I am giving him the finger," he says.

"Oh, I didn't notice. Yeah, he probably doesn't like that…why are you doing that?" she says.

"I don't like that he's taking our photo," he says.

"He's probably some ass-wipe art student and is loving this," she says.

"Probably. I'm going to be in some third rate Concordia art show with the caption 'still life with angst and alcohol' underneath," he says.

The man and woman laugh. Clink their bottles together and smile.

This is love.