“What came first? The chicken or the egg?”

Drew scratched his chin contemplatively. “Dinosaurs?”

The creature stared at him, then down at herself. “Shit, did I come first?”

Josie cleared their throat, and then spoke up: “A chicken was made 23 years ago from gypsum, petroleum jelly, limestone, wax, and tallow. It moved and danced across a television screen, delighting children everywhere. Does that help?”

Drew thought about it. “But is it a kind of toy?”

“No. It is a piece of art to be looked at,” Josie explained patiently to him.

Drew hadn’t noticed before that Marigold was there, but she was talking now: “Dude, I am so sick of going in circles with this fucking argument. And getting high all the time. And watching this movie. And having this conversation.”

He ignored her, and continued to speak with relative confidence: “What is the point of art that can only be looked at?”

Josie was quick to reply, as if they already had their response prepared: “There is no point to anything. We just do it.”

She groaned loud enough to drown out both of them. “Enough! I’m tired of this philosophical bullshit! I hope you both drown!”

“Oh. Right.” He looked down at his feet, down at the infinite expanse of water below. “Am I drowning?”