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Colm Doherty: I was too harsh yesterday. Pádraic Súilleabháin: Yesterday, he says! I know well you was too harsh yesterday. Colm Doherty: I just... I just have this tremendous sense of time slipping away on me, Padraic. And I think I need to spend the time I have left thinking and composing. Just trying not to listen to any more of the dull things you have to say for yourself. But I am sorry about it. I am, like. Pádraic Súilleabháin: Are you dying? Colm Doherty: No, I'm not dying. Pádraic Súilleabháin: But then you have loads of time. Colm Doherty: For chatting? Pádraic Súilleabháin: Aye. Colm Doherty: For aimless chatting? Pádraic Súilleabháin: Not for aimless chatting. For good, normal chatting. Colm Doherty: So we'll keep aimlessly chatting and my life will keep on dwindling. And in 12 years, I'll die with nothin' to show for it, bar the chats I've had with a limited man, is that it? Pádraic Súilleabháin: I said, "not aimless chatting" I said "Good, normal chatting." Colm Doherty: The other night, two hours, you spent talking to me about the things you found in your little donkey's shite that day. Two hours, Padraic. I timed it. Pádraic Súilleabháin: Well it wasn't me little donkey's shite, was it? It was me pony's shite. Which shows how much you were listenin'. Colm Doherty: None of it helps me. Do you understand? None of it helps me. [Colm leaves] Pádraic Súilleabháin: We'll just talk about something else, then!

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