NIX: he said, "two dogs visit you in your sleep--not when you're dreaming!--when you're asleep." He sort of choked softly and then the industrial black mouthed him up.
CRADLE: to where?
NIX: where what?
CRADLE: where did the black mouth him up to?
NIX: not necessarily anything, I think. I mean, anywhere.
NIX: the wheels whipped forward (jumping to another track I guess because I soon remember ice against the window sill as the winds had changed) and I felt like I was going to shit myself.
He might have been gone and he might have still been there. I could probably say the same thing about myself.
CRADLE: I could probably say the same thing about myself.
NIX: there was a half-swallowed gulp of malt liquor still hanging under my nostril but time and smells are funny like that.
CRADLE: how does one choke softly?
CRADLE: how does one choke softly? You said he choked softly.
NIX: I don't think he or me or the Steel Reserve or iron walls of the train felt for a fleeting moment that his breath would stay stuck, I mean.
CRADLE: he meant to, as though for inflection.
NIX: not him, maybe, but something did.
CRADLE: I am tired of feelings feeling soft as much as I am them feeling hard.
NIX: There were too many windows and not enough doors--
CRADLE: Have you seen my pills?
NIX: Some light, I don't know where it was coming from, kept punching through the squares on the walls. Just over and over and over again but I only saw three doors: a door and a door and another door, each of them bolted with rust and shivering just enough to keep all the sleeping bodies away from the cold long enough until the next stop.
CRADLE: I just fucking had them.
NIX: They're probably where they always are.
CRADLE: There they are
NIX: So, what do you think?
NIX: about the dogs?
CRADLE: the dogs in your dream?
NIX: No, the dogs he was talking about.
CRADLE: well, did they come? Did you dream about them?
NIX: those are two different questions.
CRADLE: so they came but you didn't dream about them.
NIX: how could you know?
CRADLE: I can't relate to these stories about your overwrought figures floating aboard trains or outside grocery markets or wherever you find yourself fiending for a little meaning.
NIX: now you're not only being a cunt but you're being daft
CRADLE: you think there aren't enough doors because you're looking for windows
NIX: you'd rather walk than look
CRADLE: you'd rather look than walk
NIX: she's probably waiting for us
CRADLE: of course she's waiting for us
NIX: how can you want to see with your eyes closed and walk? I'd take sleep dogs over dream dogs. Then I am divested from their apparition. You'd rather will them for your visual pleasure while you rest and then step through anything that you can as you wake.
CRADLE: You overuse the word daft. You sound pedantic. This is why people don't like you.
NIX: People like me fine.
CRADLE: People like you fine.
NIX: If anything, I overuse the word softly. And at least I can boast a sense of self awareness to coat my cactus sides like a jelly.
CRADLE: It sounds like you're saying your personality is a thorny cock and your tenuous grasp of understanding of yourself is a lubricant.
NIX: existential sex; doors and windows; dogs coming in and out of your inner eye--
CRADLE: she's getting angry. I can hear her.
NIX: then let's go.
CRADLE: I'm not done
NIX: when will we be done?
CRADLE: I said me.
CRADLE: I said me. I'm not done. I don't know when we will be done.
NIX: did you find the pills?
CRADLE: do you think she will be happy?
NIX: depends--do you think she'll be sleeping or dreaming?
CRADLE: I have nothing more to say.
NIX: open the door.