Did you ever not smoke?
“Buzz off, man. You’re kind of a downer.”
What’s with Punk Rock Girl?
“She’s my date for the Sock Hop.”
I see you’ve already got your socks on.
“Can’t help it if I’m a Beau Brummel, man.”
Your pale shin is hypnotic.
“We’re done.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“What the hell is that?”
Check your pocket.
POCKET-CHECKING NOISE
“Huh.”
Just slide the doodad.
“It’s very intuitive.”
Yup.
…
“Garcia here.”
“Hewwo, is this Jewwy Gahcia?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s Mick. Whoss ‘er name, then?”
“Who?”
“Th’ bird next t’ you.”
“Don’t worry about her name, man.”
“Tell ‘er that Mick Jagger is callin’ from th’ future.”
“I’m hanging up.”
…
“How do I hang this up?”
Big red button.
“Ah.”
DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT
“Hey, man.”
Mm-hmm
“Don’t ever do that to me again.”
Sorry.
“Bother Weir with that shit.”
I said I was sorry.
Yay! Garcia! I Love him.
I can just hear the young bay area accent, man. But “Bother Weir with that shit.” sounds like Jerry when he had gotten a little salt in the pepper of his beard.
Hewwo. Taht-Day?