Fred asks if Peggy’s name is “Peggy.”
“For the last time, yes,” laughs Peggy. “Want some eggs?”
“Hmm,” says Fred, pondering the state of his stomach. “Do you think I could take ’em?”
“Sure,” says Peggy. “They’ll be good for you. Like ’em scrambled?”
“Any way you cook ’em,” says Fred.
“Good,” says Peggy. While stirring the eggs with a fork, she asks Fred, “Sleep alright?”
Fred pauses drinking his orange juice. “Wonderful,” says Fred, carefully.
“That’s good,” says Peggy, lighting the oven.
“Can I help you with any of that business?” asks Fred.
“You can pour the coffee, if you want some,” replies Peggy. Fred snags the coffee pot.
“Do you mind if I ask a someone personal questions?” says Fred, pouring the coffee.
“No,” says Peggy.
“Where did you sleep last night?” says Fred.
“On the couch,” says Peggy, adjusting the oven temperature.
“That’s terrible,” says Fred, shaking his head.
“What’s terrible?” asks Peggy, stirring the eggs again.
“I should have had enough sense to go to a hotel, not come around here, bothering you,” says Fred.
“You didn’t bother anybody, Fred,” says Peggy.