Birdie

You can't write from a place of anger.
Can I write from a place of coffee?
A what?
A coffee shop.  A place of coffee.
No one calls a coffee shop "a place of coffee."
It was my understanding that most adjective-noun combinations could be effectively rendered as "noun of adjective" without much confusion.
Like "hall of pool"?  Or "bread of cheese"?
I'm sorry, English is not my second language.
Did you say "second language"?
Yes.  It's my first language.
Oh, I get it.  You therefore believe you are allowed to make rules about the language with impunity, then.
With who?
With whom.
Who is whom?
Close.  It's "who is who."
Who is who?
Very nice.  Now we're Abbott & Costello.
Not my intention.  Instead, I wanted to...
Hold on.
What?
Are you writing this down?
So?
How do you write so fast?
Shortcake.
Shorthand, you mean?
Yes, well, "cake" means "hand" in shortcake.
But why are you writing this down?
For Birdie.
Who's Birdie?
The one who reads these things.
Why does Birdie want to read you arguing with me?
Birdie is possessed of a rare & interesting desire for all things.
Sounds like a creep.
Yes, that too.
Why haven't I met Birdie?
We've all met Birdie.
What's he like?
Cool, acute.  Aloof, perceptive.  Knows how to read a room, knows how to finish a book.
Are ours the only conversations he enjoys?
I'm sure others record their conversations for his perusal.  I don't know many of his friends.
Are we his friends?
No.
...
Hello?
I am leery about saying more.  I wanted this to be among friends.
What were you saying earlier about anger?
You just seemed a little angry that you hadn't finished your short story.
Shirt story.
Excuse me?
I was writing a story about a shirt.  But it might have turned into a novella.
Yeah, Birdie can fucking have this.