Box, Set

Um.

“Hey, hoser.”

Are you in a fight club?

“I can’t talk about it.”

I see what you did there.

“Great flick, eh?”

Got that right. Dave?

“Sure?”

Why you all beat up?

“I’m a boxer now.”

You don’t seem the type.

“There’s an inner rage, y’know?”

Not really, no. People say lovely things about you.

“Aw, isn’t that a sweet thing for you to say. Made my day. Anyway, yeah: lot of rage under this fleece. I just focus it like a laser upon my opponents.”

Really?

“Bell rings? It’s time to get to boxing? Well: my eyes, they go over black, like a moose’s eyes go black when he goes in for the kill.”

No, they don’t. And that’s from Jaws, kind of.

“There’s a motion picture, eh?”

You betcha. Dave?

“Uh-huh?”

You are not fighting for money.

“Oh, yeah. I figure this Dead thing can’t last forever and, you know: I’m in my forties with a family, so I figured that professional boxing was our ticket to the good life.”

…

Did Billy hit you?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Okay, champ. Want some ice cream?

“Yeah.”

Okay, let’s go get some ice cream.

“It’s just that I love the Dead so much and then one of them comes along and hurts me and it hurts SO MUCH.”

He didn’t mean it, buddy. Need a hug?

“A regular hug or a Mickey hug?”

…

Oh, God, what are they doing to you?

“Whatever they can think of at the moment.”

Yeah.