[Afternoon. Outside. The air is full of, whaddyacallem, dust motes. And poplar spore and warm slanting beams of sun with wedges of soft shade between. 'S nice. Palinode and Schmutzie are taking a walk to somewhere or other.]
Schmutzie: Have you seen all the cabbage moths flying around today? [It's true. There's a crazy explosion of the little things this summer. You can't walk a block without a dozen or more fluttering by.]
Palinode: Cabbage moths and wasps.
Schmutzie: Flying around.
Palinode: They're at war.
Schmutzie: What? No they're not.
Palinode: Absolutely. You see all the cabbage moths and wasps out, right? They're at war with each other.
Schmutzie: No. That doesn't make any sense.
Palinode: War doesn't make sense, and yet they still fight.
Schmutzie: You can't just say there's a lot of one thing and a lot of another thing and say they're at war with each other. "Oh look, there's a lot of trees and people, they must be at war".
Palinode: Trees can't fight. They just stand there while we attack.
Schmutzie: That's not exactly warfare.
Palinode: All they do is wave their limbs a bit and fall over.
Schmutzie: You suck.
Palinode: Considering how wussy trees are, you'd think we'd have won already.
Schmutzie: All done listening now.
Palinode: I mean, we've got axes and flamethrowers and farmers and everything. And yet our forests are still overrun with the enemy.