Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?
“I have, uh, ascended to the Iron Throne.”
Nope.
“Yeah, uh-huh. They upholstered it.”
No, that’s just a rich guy’s chair.
“I’m a rich guy.”
Different kind of rich guy. That’s a chair a railroad magnate would sit in while reading the evening paper and ordering a strike broken.
“I don’t even own one railroad.”
Let alone enough to qualify as a magnate. You excited about Mexico?
“That new kid they got, Santos? Hell of a striker. Goalie’s pretty good, too.”
Not the national soccer team. I meant the show coming up, Bob.
“Ah. Well, you know: gig’s a gig. If this goes good, though, we’re gonna do some more shows down there. Then maybe Canada. Thinking about taking Dead & Company to Europe this year.”
…
You fleeing the country?
“Wouldn’t you?”
Take me with you.
“I won’t even let you write my teevee show; why would I take you to Switzerland?”
You’re going to Switzerland?
“Pretend I didn’t say that.
Sure.
Look what I am playing, Bobert.
…
Check out Bobby’s left hand – he’s giving the signal! One if by land, two if I see, no, wait, it’s “8, 9, 10…”, no, it must be one beat for to start “Minglewood”.