symonne torpy

Two friends, on an impending makeover.

Arnaud: I need you to give me a makeover.

Cecily: I am extremely expensive.

Arnaud: Perfect! I am very poor.

Cecily: I think we can come up with a solution. You be my Barbie doll. Do everything and wear everything I say. Then my services are free.

Arnaud: Deal.

Cecily: Beware, I used to pull the heads off Barbie dolls and cut their hair short, and once or twice I melted them in the microwave.

Arnaud: It all depends on the second Barbie doll you intend to melt me with.

Two friends, on traffic lights.

Arnaud: You are a traffic light. If there were more traffic lights like you, road safety would dramatically increase. Cars would come to a standstill!

Cecily: If traffic lights sashayed around the streets with a complete disregard for cars, we’d all think we were living in Rome.

Two friends, on a poetic life.

Cecily: Foster is a young man I met at the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. He was such a gentle soul, and an inspiring one. I didn’t think to ask his last name, and he doesn’t know mine. When we parted it felt romantic not to swap details, but now I feel a sense of loss. The only way I could think to contact him again was to leave a note on the literary board in Shakespeare and Company, where he goes all the time to read and to hide his photographs in the pages of their books as a kind of art quest for the public.

Charles: Oh God. Do you ever do things that aren’t poetic?