"Hello?"
"Hey, Deb."
"I'm sorry, who is this?"
"You know who this is."
"Don't be a prick."
"Am I being a prick?"
"Don't assume that everyone instantly knows your high-and-mighty voice."
"Yeah, but you knew it was me, right?"
Pause.
"What do you want, Eric?"
"Just seeing if you're coming to the show tonight."
"Ha. Ha-ha. That's pretty funny."
"Are you still pissed?"
"Tell you what. Take a moment to listen to the tone in my voice and you figure out if I'm still pissed."
"It'll be a good show."
"The brilliant minds who couldn't come up with a better name for their band than Creamed Corn? Oh yeah, it'll be a good show, alright."
"I like Creamed Corn. You shoulda heard what it was gonna be."
"Yeah? What?"
"Children of the Creamed Corn."
"Ha-ha-ha!"
"There, that's better. I like listening to your laugh, you know. It makes me feel like the world doesn't suck too much."
"Yeah... well."
"So you gonna come?"
"Oh Eric, God... you know, you shouldn't count on it, alright? Okay?"
"Yeah..."
"Maybe. That's a very slight tenuous maybe. Probably not."
"Try, okay? I want to see you."
"Man... fuck you Eric, all right?"
"Great. I'll see you tonight then."
"That's not what I..."
Fuck.