| I. | Okay, first off—it’s Onyx. |
| II. | What, are you blind? It’s clearly Deep Noir. |
| III. | Fred was just saying Black Olive or Licorice but I— |
| IV. | Well, Fred makes everything about food. On our first date, he said my eyes were rum-soaked raisins. Chaaarming! |
| V. | I should’ve said they were Blackbirds, darling. Two rum-soaked Blackbirds who shit on anything I have to say. |
| VI. | Knock it off, you two. Can’t we just enjoy our lovely weekend away from the city? |
| VII. | I saw a Blackbird once. On Fire Island. Or was it Provincetown? I dunno. But it was definitely at a Black Party—I know that. |
| VIII. | Remember that drag queen who did pantomime? Wasn’t her show called Ballad of the Blackbird? |
| IX. | She was doing Kabuki, imbecile. And the show was called Memoir of My Last Turd. I’d know, I dated her kimono designer. |
| X. | Hey, don’t Blackbirds have a high frequency of homosexuality? Like giraffes? |
| XI. | You’re thinking penguins. And that’s your last mimosa, Danny. You’re getting like really loud. You’ll scare the little guy away! |
| XII. | Oh, he split ages ago. Soon as Fred and Jose started going at each other. |
| XIII. | No! I wanted an Instagram pic. He was so sweet. That’s it—next time we drive up, I’m gonna build him the poshest birdhouse you’ve ever seen. |