“Surely you mean my heart’s conTENT?” I said.
“Your heart’s a tent?” she said. “That explains a lot.”
“No, my heart’s not a tent, and what does it explain?” I said.
“Well, if your heart isn’t a tent, it doesn’t explain anything,” she said, “though it baffles me why you said it was in the first place.”
At this point, I lit a cigarette, blew smoke in her face, and left.
“Smoke isn’t blue, it’s grey,” she said, as I walked away.
(4th August, or was it 3rd? Banjos-dels-Hairspray)