Amy Poehler and Edgar Allan Poe are stuck in Flooded Subway Tunnel and forced to have a deep conversation.

Here's their conversation:

"Okay, Poe, let's brainstorm! We can totally figure out how to get out of this subterranean swimming pool!" Amy chirped, ever optimistic, water lapping at her bright yellow rain boots.

"Hope is a feathered thing, Poehler, and these tunnels offer only the echoing squawks of despair," Poe intoned, his voice a low rumble amidst the dripping water.

"But despair is boring! What if we used this discarded pizza box as a raft? Think outside the box, Poe, literally!" Amy suggested, kicking the soggy cardboard.

"The raven, too, offered a solution, yet its utterance was but a mournful 'Nevermore,' a fitting epitaph for our watery grave," Poe lamented, staring into the murky depths.

"No! Never say never! Maybe there's a higher platform we can reach! Come on, let's explore!" Amy urged, grabbing his arm and pulling him forward.

"Explore? Into the maw of oblivion? The dampness clings to my soul, a tangible representation of my impending doom," Poe countered, his eyes wide with a haunted look.

"Doom schmoom! We're not doomed, we're just temporarily inconvenienced. What's the worst that could happen?" Amy asked, flashing a reassuring smile.

"The worst? To be forever entombed, our cries unheard, our stories unfinished, lost to the watery abyss!" Poe dramatically proclaimed.

"Okay, that's pretty bad. But what if our story *is* that we escaped the flooded subway? Isn't that worth fighting for, Poe?" Amy questioned, her voice filled with genuine hope.

"Perhaps... perhaps even a Poe can be roused by the siren call of a happy ending," Poe conceded, a flicker of something akin to hope glimmering in his eyes.