FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Transcript:

Fletcher: You hear the news? I’m getting off this rock.
Cook: That so?
Fletcher: Yeah - transfer’s been approved. Took it’s sweet time. I put in my request ages ago - but that’s just how it is.
Cook: Clearly.
Fletcher: This place was holding me back. I got big plans, you know? Way bigger than this stupid island.
Cook: Course you do.
Fletcher: Damn straight. While you’re stuck slinging slop on this backwater dunny, I’ll be off seeking my fortune.
Cook: Maybe I’ll request a transfer too. Everybody’s gotta eat, right?
Fletcher: Not with the way you cook.
Cook: Right. I’m officially bored of your little charade.
Fletcher: Charade? What you mean?
Cook: I already heard all about your “transfer” - so don’t act like it was your idea, ‘cuz I know it wasn’t.
Cook: James and Larson - they’ve been telling me for months about what a shithead you are.
Cook: You steal stuff from their lockers, cheat at cards, and when it’s time for janitorial duty - you vanish.
Cook: Maxwell said if she didn’t get you out of here, it was just a matter of time until one of them murdered your punk kiwi ass.
Cook: Now, if it were me, I’d would’ve gladly helped those two find a place to stash your corpse.
Cook: But Althea’s always had a hard-on for due process.
Cook: So maybe shut the fuck up and play nice until you’re gone for good, understand?
Fletcher: Copy.