That night, Mrs Bishop insisted upon making dinner for the pair of them, as 'poor, dear Noah' had 'worked so hard', and therefore could not be expected to cook, and Moses was far too lazy and indifferent to attempt to prepare food for either him or his flatmate. So it was that they sat down to eat a delicious meal that neither of them had had to cook. The chef could not join them that night, as she had to stay downstairs and go over the rent payments, bill payments, and all other manner of finances in her own flat. This meant that Noah and Moses were sat, alone together, at the dining table in the kitchen of their flat, staring at each other and wondering how to make conversation.
"Well, this mashed potato is more than satisfactory." Moses announced, after approximately 7 minutes and 28 seconds of silence.
"Yes, yes - I totally agree." Noah responded, desperate to have something to talk about. This whirlwind of a new home and new people still hadn't quite sunk in yet, but it definitely felt strange without Mrs Bishop to stand there and provide a ceaseless flurry of conversation. Trying to talk to Moses was often like having a discussion with a mop - there was very little chance of ever getting a response, so one might as well just continue talking, whilst simply imagining what was his answers would be. Perhaps this was how their landlady had learned to speak at everyone and no-one at the same time, and to not pause for breath. It was clear that no response was coming from Moses, so Noah launched another comment in the hope that it would prompt him into saying something.
"Were you hungry?" He was lucky, in the sense that it did generate a response from the strange man sitting opposite him.
"No, not really. Were you?"
"Oh yes. I've been working - I always get hungry after working."
"Indeed. Quite astounding, the amount of energy you must have burnt today, just standing there with a pencil in your hand." Their eyes met across the table and then they both burst out laughing, unable to maintain the deadpan atmosphere for any longer. Noah shook his head in mirthful despair, and returned to eating the rest of his food. The mischievous pair ended up having a long and heated discussion about graffiti, and whether or not it could be suitably judged to be an art form. Or whether, in Moses' view, it should be punishable by cutting off the hands of the offending 'artist', as, apparently, would have been done in 'olden times'. Suffice to say they were unable to reach a conclusion upon which they both agreed.
"Well, this mashed potato is more than satisfactory." Moses announced, after approximately 7 minutes and 28 seconds of silence.
"Yes, yes - I totally agree." Noah responded, desperate to have something to talk about. This whirlwind of a new home and new people still hadn't quite sunk in yet, but it definitely felt strange without Mrs Bishop to stand there and provide a ceaseless flurry of conversation. Trying to talk to Moses was often like having a discussion with a mop - there was very little chance of ever getting a response, so one might as well just continue talking, whilst simply imagining what was his answers would be. Perhaps this was how their landlady had learned to speak at everyone and no-one at the same time, and to not pause for breath. It was clear that no response was coming from Moses, so Noah launched another comment in the hope that it would prompt him into saying something.
"Were you hungry?" He was lucky, in the sense that it did generate a response from the strange man sitting opposite him.
"No, not really. Were you?"
"Oh yes. I've been working - I always get hungry after working."
"Indeed. Quite astounding, the amount of energy you must have burnt today, just standing there with a pencil in your hand." Their eyes met across the table and then they both burst out laughing, unable to maintain the deadpan atmosphere for any longer. Noah shook his head in mirthful despair, and returned to eating the rest of his food. The mischievous pair ended up having a long and heated discussion about graffiti, and whether or not it could be suitably judged to be an art form. Or whether, in Moses' view, it should be punishable by cutting off the hands of the offending 'artist', as, apparently, would have been done in 'olden times'. Suffice to say they were unable to reach a conclusion upon which they both agreed.