A Diner a Day

AT RISE:

PHIL and LARRY sit at a diner booth. There is absolutely nothing to distinguish the two in terms of immediate demeanor, thus Larry has a sinister scar running down his left cheek. Or a hat, whichever is easier to come by.

PHIL:
Phil.

LARRY:
Larry.

PHIL:
Man, it’s a good thing that we’re not in some sort of dramatic work, or people might now be convinced that my name is Larry and your name is Phil, they of course being unaware of our quirky habit of occasionally stating our own names without adequate reason.

LARRY:
Wait, that means I’m Larry?

PHIL:
Well, yeah.

LARRY:
And you’re Phil?

PHIL:
By process of elimination.

LARRY:
Oh.
(beat)
That does shed some light on the mysteries of my day-to-day life.

PHIL:
Glad to be of service. Now who wants pie?

LARRY:
Well, I thought I did, but I also thought my name was Phil, so it might be better if the decision as taken out of my hands.

PHIL:
How does your name in any way effect your desire for baked goods?

LARRY:
It doesn’t directly. But now I’m finding myself ensconced in a fog of uncertainty.

PHIL:
That’s very poetic, Larry.

LARRY:
Phil.

PHIL:
What?

LARRY:
Oh, nothing. I was just- Could you just call me Phil? If you don’t mind.

PHIL:
But I’m Phil.

LARRY:
Well yeah. Technically. I mean. Forget it. It would just be a bit…easier. For me.

PHIL:
Would it now.

LARRY:
Well yeah. For now. You know, because of the fog.

PHIL:
The fog of uncertainty.

LARRY:
That’s the one.

PHIL:
Fine. Now do you want some pie…Phil?

LARRY:
I would love some pie, Phil.

PHIL:
Fan-freaking-tastic.

BLACKOUT. END PLAY.