Conversations Have I Imagined

(NOTE:  None of these were actually overheard.  They are what occurs to me when I see couples, singles, or triples standing outside smoking cigarettes on Michigan avenue or strolling through the park. Sometimes, the conversations are what's being said ABOUT them.)

GREG: Did you see Adam wearing those white sunglasses?

JEFF:  White sunglasses?

GREG:  Yeah, he had' em on today.  What a dork.  

JEFF:  (sluggish laugh)  Heh.  Right.

GREG:  I bet he doesn't even know what a dork he looks like - walking around like he's all pimp or whatever.

JEFF:  Heeeyeah.

GREG:  Pathetic.

(A beat. JEFF drinks a sip of coffee)

JEFF:  So where do you think he got 'em?

GREG:  What?

JEFF:  The sunglasses.

GREG:  Like I would know where he got that poser shit.

(A beat.)

JEFF:  Right.

*************************************************

JESSICA:  I love Lynne to DEATH, right, but I wish she'd quit hinting about her hysterectomy to we have to ASK about it.

MINDY:  I know, right?

*************************************************

A:  I'm sorry.

B:  Huh, Isn't that the big "Oh, well" of the universe.

*************************************************

ANDREA:  God, I'm so bored.

JIM:  We can do something, if you want.

(ANDREA lets out a long. protracted. sigh.)

*************************************************

(The three of them, out in a field at night.  They are young-ish.  GABE and ANNE are on bikes.  LISA is quite a way from them.  GABE has ANNE by the arm.)

GABE:  Ride over to my apartment with me.

ANNE:  What...stop it.  Lisa's right there.

GABE:  Do you care if she sees you ride to my place?

(LISA turns  and calls from afar, GABE pulls his had away.)

LISA:  Are you guys coming or what?

ANNE:  Hang on! (To GABE, hushed.)  It's a Monday night.  I can't ride over to your place.  I think Lisa likes you.

(GABE's looks at the ground.)

GABE:  Yeah.  I know.

LISA:  GAWD, you GUYS...come ON! Whateryou in lerve or something.

(GABE sighs and pedals his bike away from ANNE.)

GABE:  Keep your pants on...we're coming.

(He pedals forward. Not looking back at ANNE.  She huffs at herself, shakes her head and pedals forward at a slower pace.)