My friend is visiting. We have endless conversations, many of which would be of great feminist/psychoanalytic/marxist interest. The exchanges between us could be excerpts from Nathalie Sarraute's The Planetarium:
- Have you not considered buying a new table for your TV? [energetic, conversational tone]
- Why? [imitating real exasperation]
- But you made it at school! It's old.
- I did. It was nice. Anders helped me. It is a nice table. Solid.
- That color...
- It's retro.... I like mustard yellow.
- No, your apartment looks like a child's room.
- I don't care. I'm a hippie.
- No you're not. But you could get a new table. From IKEA. To make your apartment look more grown-up.
- I don't fancy the grown-up look.
- I know. Your such a lad.
- Uh...
- Let's go to IKEA. You'll find something. New furniture. New stuff. For your apartment. It will look nicer.
- I don't like IKEA.
- But it can't look like this forever, your place.
- Look, I don't want any furniture. I like it the way it is.
- But more grown-up...
- I don't care a rap about that.
- you could get...
- I DON'T WANT NO FUCKING FURNITURE!!!
- ... You could buy a coctail cabinet... From IKEA.
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