Ranters: Teenage girl in black skirt, black leggings and a gold-and-yellow Harry Potter scarf; sleepy-eyed teenage boy in puffy vest.
Location: Bus stop, Wilshire &
Time: 6 p.m. on a December Thursday
Topics covered: Ratio of intelligence to breast size in a mutual acquaintance; feigned stupidity as a social tool; Metro station decor; the end of cinema; dubious Star Wars trivia
Girl: No, I hate her. She's just a hollow-head and some double-Ds, and I bet those don't look good. I bet those don't look good at all. And she's so fucking stupid.
Guy: I don't think she is.
Girl: She's not smart, that's for goddamn sure, but she only pretends to be stupid because guys like you or Jojo think that's hot for whatever reason. Like maybe your moms were stupid, and that's what you like to go along with the … [Girl cups her hands in a parody of her busty acquaintance.]
We were all waiting for the train that time, at Hollywood and Vine or Highland or whichever one. And they have all those film reels all over the ceiling, you know? And she's talking about how it feels like Old Hollywood up there before everything was on computers. She says she just loves looking up at all the old movie cans.
[Guy doesn't seem to follow why this is so upsetting. Girl continues, a harder edge to her voice.]
Girl: Movie cans? They're reels. She makes everything about her boobs. I could ask her about Henry Ford or something, and she'd find a way.
Guy: She's not stupid. She's cute.
Girl: Film cans.
Guy: And how do you know what they're called? Film's dead.
Girl: Because I know R2-D2! Because when they were making Star Wars, they got R2-D2's name from someone talking about reels. Some sound guy was, like, “Reel two, disc something,” and Spielberg said, “That's a kick-ass name for a robot.” Don't ask me how I know basic shit. Ask yourself why she doesn't and why you don't care that she doesn't.
[Guy says nothing.]
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