“Do you do anything but talk?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, all you seem to do these days is talk, talk, talk. It would be one thing if you had something to say, but you don’t. You’re talking to hear yourself talk. Say something else—describe the world around you, make fun of the people near you, do something except this constant clever bantering. It gets old very quickly.”

“You really shouldn’t hold back. You should come out and say what’s on your mind. It’s much easier that way.”

“There you go again, heading out there for cleverness and ignoring my advice.”

“OK. I get it. What do you want me to say? You want me to talk about the people around me? You want me to tell you how much I hate my job, how my boss has the chops to berate me, steal my work claiming it as his own, and fail to promote me for four straight years. How my girlfriend can barely stand to look at me anymore, and seems more interested in my friends than in me. Is this what you want me to focus on?”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Well, what did you mean?”

“I was hoping you’d talk about me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

“So, what’s new in your life?”

“It’s kind of late to start that line of conversation now. I know you’re asking that only because I made you feel bad for half a moment. I also know that in the other half to this moment, you’re going to begin talking again, and I’m going to analyze your problems, present you with solutions—which you won’t use because you’re not looking for solutions. You’re looking for commiseration, and, to tell you the truth here, since I think we’re good friends in this, I don’t give a shit about commiserating about issues that you can fix with such little effort.”

“Bitter aren’t we?”

“You just go on and on, and I’m sick it. I didn’t mean to go off on you, with the whole commiseration thing, but you drive me crazy sometimes and leave me little choice. You’ll forgive me, I hope.”

“I always do. You’re a great friend, have I told you that yet?”

“You should tell me that more often.”