This is the opening from a Donald Barthelme short story:
-C'mon Hilda don't fret.
-Well Maggie it's a blow.
-Don't let it bother you, don't let it get you down.
-Once I thought they were going to admit me to the Conservatory but now I know they will never admit me to the Conservatory.
-Yes they are very particular about who they admit to the Conservatory. They will never admit you to the Conservatory.
-They will never admit me to the Conservatory, I know that now.
-You are not Conservatory material, I'm afraid. That's the plain truth of it.
-You're not important, they told me, just remember that, you're not important, what's so important about you? What?
Kind of reminds me of something. Something about, I don't know, being an artist?