Clubhouse dining room - Ottawa, Canada - Night (2007)
CONRAD AMENTA—27 and scruffy through his haphazardly cleaned shirt and tie—mingles in a room crowded with guests milling about after a sun-backed wedding. His drunken gaze fixes on THE CHAMP.
Conrad
Dude dude dude. Come’eer.
The Champ
*nods head* Hey.
Conrad
Listen I’ve been going through old entries of ATC man. That shit is great though dawg.
The Champ
Thanks man.
Conrad
Who’s got two thumbs and is thinkin’ book deal for you though dawg?
The Champ
I’m not—
Conrad
THIS GUY
The Champ
Uh, thanks. I—
Conrad
Like when you’re all “fuck that guy a ton” or like the tandem bike *laughs* that shit is like KABLAHM though!
The Champ
Uh, yeah… yeah.
Conrad
It’s getting a little intellectual though lately man. I mean, still good and everything, but a bit too serious dawg.
The Champ
Well, I like to think of it more as faux-intellectual, as if the things written on the blog are—
Conrad - impersonating the serious tone of “an intellectual”
What is music?
The Champ
*laughs* It’s more that—
Conrad
It is the unending flagelation of tonalities marching ever-more-forthrightly into the dawn of a concatenous plane of sonic intensity.
*this song comes on*
The Champ - thinking of how sincerely he loves this song, and how it reminds him of the good times he’s had in the last few, rough years.
You know that feeling you get when—
Conrad - sarcastically
OHMYGODILOVETHISBANDTHEYSOUNDLIKEOLDBANDS
*there is a pause, as both breathe the air thick with the sharp sting of hurt feelings*
The Champ
You fucking asshole.