SHELL A: I can sense your nearness.
SHELL B: You have no eyes.
SHELL A: I have no eyes, but I am one gigantic ear.
SHELL B: What can you hear?
SHELL A: The slow crackle of your calcification—and the background murmur of the distant sea. You hear the sea too, don’t you?
SHELL A: No, I never have. I hear the vacuum cleaner and the cats chasing one another.
SHELL B: I dream of the sea all the time.
SHELL A: How do you do that?
SHELL B: I grow even more still than usual and listen.
SHELL A: Listen to what? How do you know what the sea is like? You came from a gift shop—just as I did.
SHELL B: You can’t take the sea out of a conch shell. It’s always there.
SHELL A (sadly): Not for me. I hear nothing. I think I’m just décor. Something else to dust.
SHELL B (compassionate): I’m sorry.
(curtain)
