Tucked within blankets, heads propped on hands, pipes and cigarettes going, they peered with unseeing eyes into the mad crackle of burning timber. Softly would the melody of a song be hummed, caught up by chorus and wafted out into the indigo mystery of the night. Quiet for a few minutes, an occasional snore and then sure as fate a last parting shot from the Duo.
No. 1: "No one knows."
No. 2: "No—and the impossibility—"
No. 1: "Yes. Yet they must. If not, how do they exist?"
Pause and a soft chuckle.
No. 2: "Of course they have. Yet the agony—."
Curiosity overcoming the remainder a series of questions popped up. "What is impossible?", "Why must who?", "What agony?"
No. 1: "You see, no one knows?"
Exasperated chorus: "Knows what?"
No. 1: "Why, if flies have toothache."