“Dammit, Weir: you look like a serial killer in them spectacles!”
“Nah, Pig. Girls like the glasses.”
“Girls like your pretty little face in spite o’ them things!”
“Well, you know, Pig: God love ya, but you’re not really the one to be criticizing others’ accessories.”
“You’re showin’ your unworldliness, Weir! The Pig’s a damn fashion plate! Hell, the Pig’s the whole damn fashion table! My hat’s corduroy!”
“I didn’t even know they could do that with corduroy.”
“A more versatile fabric than given credit by the public! You got corduroy, denim, and leather and you got all you need!”
“Oh, I don’t know, Pig. Think you’re leaving out underwear and socks. Gotta be cotton.”
“Underwear can be leather! ‘Cept then you’re living in a different part of San Francisco!”
“I would bet there’s an unwritten history linking the hippie and gay subcultures of our beloved City by the Bay to be unearthed by an enterprising writer.”
…
“Weir, who you talkin’ to?”
“You know: them.”
“Quit it with your damn occultism and metafictionality, boy!”
“Semi-fictional.”
“Cease your balderdashing!”
“Okay.”
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