The work I'm posting is the result of an exercise focusing on the use of dialogue. It didn't have to be all dialogue, like this piece is, but I had just read A Clean Well-Lighted Place, which, I think, led to this. It's not even on the same page as the Hemingway, but I did enjoy playing with it.
*
“You know I hate this sort of place.”
“You hate every sort of place.”
“No. I don’t. I only hate the sort of place you bring me too.”
“They’re just lobsters. It’s not like they have a purpose.”
“Everything has a purpose.”
“Not lobsters. Lobsters eat, lobsters get eaten. That’s it.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Right this way.”
“Look at them! Just look at them! They’re so sad. Binding their claws like that is just cruel!”
“Listening to you is just cruel. Get over it, already.”
“You’re waiter will be here in a moment.”
“Don’t you dare order one!”
“I’ll order whatever I want.”
“You’ll order something lobster-less, or I’m going home.”
“Hi, my name’s Kirby, I’m your waiter for this evening. Can I get you anything?”
“Some champagne. And can you tell us the specials?”
“Sure. First, we have lobster with a simple garlic butter sauce. Then there’s a clam risotto, and finally a mussel and tomato pasta.”
“The lobster would be great, thanks.”
“Didn’t you hear me? If you eat that, I’m going home.”
“So?”
“So? That’s all you can say, so? So what about the lobsters? What about the lobsters’ rights? Haven’t you ever thought about that?”
“All the damned time.”
“You’re a murderer, you know that? A lobster murderer. They boil them alive, you know. Boil. Them. Alive. And it’s just because they’re lobsters, too. You’re—you’re endoskeleton supremacists! You heard me, endoskeleton supremacists! If those were puppies in that tank, all fur and cuteness, or bunnies, or cats, you wouldn’t boil them alive. You’d say ‘awww’, ‘no way’, ‘eat a puppy? Never?’ But lobsters, oh no, boil ‘em up, dip ‘em in, eat ‘em all!”
“Ma’am, if you could just sit down—”
“No! Why should I? It’s time you bigots—all you bigots—heard this!”
“Can we go home now?”
“She’s right!”
“Yeah, lobster rights!”
“I’m a vegetarian!”
“Shut up, you stupid hippie!”
“Ma’am, please, if you’d just sit, I could get you a salad—”
“I won’t do anything you say, you endoskeleton supremacist! I demand you free the lobsters!”
“Ma’am, you have to pay for that—”
“Run, babies, run free! Return to your oceans!”
“Here. Just take it. Charge whatever you like.”
“Free!”
“Ma’am, if you could just—”
“Charge it. Just charge it all. I’m going home.”
“But sir, your wife—”
“—is allergic to shellfish. She’ll pass out in a few minutes. Call an ambulance if she starts to swell, okay?”
“You know I hate this sort of place.”
“You hate every sort of place.”
“No. I don’t. I only hate the sort of place you bring me too.”
“They’re just lobsters. It’s not like they have a purpose.”
“Everything has a purpose.”
“Not lobsters. Lobsters eat, lobsters get eaten. That’s it.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Right this way.”
“Look at them! Just look at them! They’re so sad. Binding their claws like that is just cruel!”
“Listening to you is just cruel. Get over it, already.”
“You’re waiter will be here in a moment.”
“Don’t you dare order one!”
“I’ll order whatever I want.”
“You’ll order something lobster-less, or I’m going home.”
“Hi, my name’s Kirby, I’m your waiter for this evening. Can I get you anything?”
“Some champagne. And can you tell us the specials?”
“Sure. First, we have lobster with a simple garlic butter sauce. Then there’s a clam risotto, and finally a mussel and tomato pasta.”
“The lobster would be great, thanks.”
“Didn’t you hear me? If you eat that, I’m going home.”
“So?”
“So? That’s all you can say, so? So what about the lobsters? What about the lobsters’ rights? Haven’t you ever thought about that?”
“All the damned time.”
“You’re a murderer, you know that? A lobster murderer. They boil them alive, you know. Boil. Them. Alive. And it’s just because they’re lobsters, too. You’re—you’re endoskeleton supremacists! You heard me, endoskeleton supremacists! If those were puppies in that tank, all fur and cuteness, or bunnies, or cats, you wouldn’t boil them alive. You’d say ‘awww’, ‘no way’, ‘eat a puppy? Never?’ But lobsters, oh no, boil ‘em up, dip ‘em in, eat ‘em all!”
“Ma’am, if you could just sit down—”
“No! Why should I? It’s time you bigots—all you bigots—heard this!”
“Can we go home now?”
“She’s right!”
“Yeah, lobster rights!”
“I’m a vegetarian!”
“Shut up, you stupid hippie!”
“Ma’am, please, if you’d just sit, I could get you a salad—”
“I won’t do anything you say, you endoskeleton supremacist! I demand you free the lobsters!”
“Ma’am, you have to pay for that—”
“Run, babies, run free! Return to your oceans!”
“Here. Just take it. Charge whatever you like.”
“Free!”
“Ma’am, if you could just—”
“Charge it. Just charge it all. I’m going home.”
“But sir, your wife—”
“—is allergic to shellfish. She’ll pass out in a few minutes. Call an ambulance if she starts to swell, okay?”
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