“My body is hollow, my head is taut.
Beat me, I thunder; touch me, I stop.
What am I?”

“A baby,” snaps the Thin One, “my turn at the conch.” He grabs it from the Fat One’s hands, holds it to his ear and giggles.

“Ask me, I reveal nothing;
Answer me, I reveal all.
What am I?”

“A door,” says the Fat One.

“Your turn,” says the Thin One sourly.

The Fat One shoves his hand in his pocket.

“Not the pocket again!” wails the Thin One.

Within it, the Fat One strokes the lone eye they have between them.