Pure … something

“Gypsum?” I said, ear against the wall

“Almost nobody calls me that, Dave.”

“I know, I know. Aren’t we at that point yet though? Drywall is just so ‘chalk on your lips.’ And sheet rock–”

Silence.

I turned to the battered oak floor as though it knew the sensations that accompanied ‘sheet rock.’

A spoon on the counter shook its bowl, “What a dope.”

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