O happy evening. The Palinode and The Lotus arrive home from a restaurant. Mid-conversation.
The Lotus: I really want to write more of those letters, like that one to the guy who smelled of talcum powder.
The Palinode: I see. (pause) I'm sorry, did you say falcon powder?
The Lotus: What? No. What?
The Palinode: What's falcon powder?
The Lotus: I said talcum powder. What's falcon powder?
The Palinode: That's what I want to know.
The Lotus: I don't think it exists.
The Palinode: Is it powder made of falcons, or is it a powder for falcons?
The Lotus: It isn't - it wouldn't be made of falcons. Foot powder isn't made of feet, you weirdo.
The Palinode: Yeah, but what kind of applications would powder for falcons have?
The Lotus: I. Wouldn't. Know. We don't own a falcon.
The Palinode: It's a niche market.
The Lotus: Uh-huh.
The Palinode: For proper falcon freshness.
The Lotus: Why not.
The Palinode: But do the unsuspecting falcons know that they're powdering themselves with falcons?
The Lotus: I'm in a different room now.