Steve
Me, only me, and my incessant garblings following the sea squalls beating me against one wall after another -- life. And squall I, ah, it is only I, a tinker, tinkering at night, but repair I can not, for soul I have not to share, for found I, not a soul; if only there was one I could share with, one I could be at one with, I may find the temerity to marry this merry, brisk light and sad shadow as I have dreamt of doing all these days, ah! I know she is this as I know I am it, for could such a darkened heart be any different and what wicked thing, wicked misfortune, could exist as to permit a repeat such as I? And thus, she must exist and she must be this... O, please, please let her exist and be this.

Friend One
Not all that, despair, Steve, not all that there, after all, hope's fair and fair hope can be gleaned.

Steve
Gleaned at what slow rate? Too slow, too slow for me, my old friend.

Friend One
There there, not all that, is it, is it?

Steve
Fair, fair, concede I... till the morrow.