Last week I was driving into the neighborhood from a different street than I usually take. Charlie was in the car with me. We were probably 3/4 of a mile from our house when I spotted a red hen beside a brick house very close to an intersection.
"Charlie!" I said, "Is that my chicken?"
A lot of internal dialogue followed:
That can't be one of mine.
How would they get so far?
Did I leave the door open?
It looks like one of mine.
That is such a long way though.
I made my way to the coop as soon as I was out of the car.
There they were, Kathy and Eleanore, content as could be.
(Why is it if one person is speaking it is a monologue, but if one person is speaking/thinking to themselves it is a dialogue?)