Profond Tresor Enigmatique

“I own the inside of your head, you know.” Walter said to Cindy, “I bought it the other day.”
“You bought it?” Cindy asked, “Just where did you buy it?”
“There’s a store,” Walter replied, “where you can buy anything.  And no, I’m not going to tell you where it is.  But I bought the inside of your head there.  It was cheap.”
“I don’t know what you really bought, and I don’t care where you really bought it, but whatever you bought, it wasn’t the inside of my head.  You don’t even know what the inside of your own head looks like, although I can tell you what it smells like, and it’s not good.”
“You’re just jealous, because you don’t own the inside of anybody’s head  —  and I own the inside of yours!”
Cindy looked at him.
I won’t say anything.  I won’t say anything at all.  He doesn’t know about the thing I found, or what I’ve done with it, or what I think it is, or who I think it originally belonged to.  It’s none of his business, and anyway, he wouldn’t understand.  None of them would.
Because I don’t even understand.  But that doesn’t stop me.
“Well,” she laughed, “I’m sure you bought something that looked like…  A moldy cantaloupe rind, or whatever.  And I’m sure you’ll enjoy eating it, or drooling all over it, or whatever nasty, smelly little thrill you’ve got planned, but don’t drag me into it, OK?”
And no, I’m not like you with your stupid rotten cantaloupe rind.  I just found something, and I don’t know what to do with it, not really.  That’s all.  I just found something.
And if I could close my eyes and make you go away, I really, really would.