The Whitney Houston Quiz Hour Bus Ride

[Mid-afternoon. The airport express bus trundles down the Don Gardiner Expressway, headed into Toronto’s downtown. Schmutzie and Palinode, slightly sticky and drowsy from a day of travel, relax into their seats. Schmutzie flicks through Twitter on her phone.]

Palinode: Say. Do you know what happens when the night falls?

Schmutzie: It gets dark?

Palinode: No.

Schmutzie: It gets cold?

Palinode: Ha-ha, no.

Schmutzie: You’re playing some game and you won’t tell me what it is and you should stop.

Palinode: When the night falls, my loneliness calls.

Schmutzie: What?

Palinode: Because I want to dance with somebody.

Schmutzie: You’re… horny?

Palinode: I want to feel the heat with somebody.

Schmutzie: And slutty too, I guess.

Palinode: Yes, I want to dance with somebody. With somebody who loves me.

[Schmutzie goes back to her tweets. Palinode looks out the window (counting the cars on the Lakeshore Blvd turnpike).]

Palinode: Oh! I almost forgot. Do you know what happens every time I think of you?

Schmutzie: I don’t really want to know.

Palinode: I get so emotional. Every time I think of you, as I said.

Schmutzie: What are you doing?

Palinode: It’s the Whitney Houston Quiz Hour.

Schmutzie: I don’t like it!

Palinode: Well, you can’t do anything about the time.