things move around

SCENE: I and my travelling companions are having a fry-up for Sunday breakfast in the nowhere town of our present exile. Billy and I are talking about the people at our previous employer, a subject to which Grant is unable to contribute, not having worked there.

Billy: Hey, do you remember that secretary, Sherry? The one who was really into feng shui, and then went off to work in marketing for the mall?

Yarb: Yeah, I liked Sherry, she was cool. She was a big fan of pro cycling, and I remember she would always tape the morning show of that day’s Tour de France and bring it in and play the highlights in the boardroom at lunchtime.

Billy: Yeah, her. Man, she was a fucking idiot.

Grant: Was she a big fan of Lance Armstrong?

Yarb: I think she was more of a Tyler Hamilton fan, but I’m sure she had respect for Armstrong, yeah.

Grant: Ha! He’s gay!

Yarb: What? Lance Armstrong is gay?

Grant: Yeah, he’s totally gay! Everyone knows that!

Yarb: Are you sure? Is he out?

Grant: Sure, of course.

Yarb: Lance Armstrong came out of the closet? When? I thought he was married to Sheryl Crow?

Grant: HA! He WAS married to Sheryl Crow, not any more! That’s ’cause he’s totally frickin queer! Anyone who goes round with a saddle up their ass all day has to be!

Yarb: So anyone who rides a bike is gay?

Grant: Anyone who rides a bike in frickin tight shorts like that has to be gay.

Yarb: I don’t agree. There’s nothing gay about riding a bike. And Lance Armstrong definitely has not come out, that’s bullshit.

Grant: Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact he’s a homo.

Billy [after a pause]: Well, I agree with Grant [pushes three uneaten sausages to side of plate].