Can you stop, please? Stop talking. All I hear is this constant jibberish. A loud staccato voice, he said. You’re not even making sense. Just rambling. On and on and on.

Are you talking to me?

Yes. You would be the one.

What’s with you? she asked. Don’t you like to talk? Converse?

We are not talking. This is not a conversation,  he told her. This is you speaking to yourself.  Which, by the way, you are the only one listening. Do you make a practice of this?

I don’t have to answer that.

No. No, you do not.