INT. LIVING ROOM. LATER.
Eddie is watching TV and doing coke off the coffee table. Bonnie comes in. He offers her the coke. She does a line. They watch TV for a long, awkward silence...
Eddie: I feel terrible.
Eddie grabs the remote, and crawls on the floor in front of the TV. Flips the channels: Fox, CNN, MSNBC…War, Famine, Catastrophe, etc...
Bonnie: Are you depressed about the news, Eddie?
Eddie: Yeah.
Bonnie: Yeah, the news is depressing.
Eddie: I mean, the aborigines had their problems too. Sure. Y’know. Tigers in the trees. Dogs after his food. I mean, in the middle ages, everybody really had to worry about witches and goblins. But we have stuff eating at us. We have stuff. We don’t even…I mean, why do you think all of the warlords of the world are stashing all of these chemical weapons for the powers that be…Them…Us. Us…Them. The call em’ weapons of mass destruction, but they’re not. They’re very, very selective! Chemical weapons are very careful about what they destroy. They annihilate people…and preserve things. They love things! You and I would be dead. Gas. Puke. Gone. Whereas, y’know other earlier, older people…the ancients…could look to the heavens, which in their minds was inhabited by this thoughtful, meditative…y’know maybe a trifle unpredictable, wrathful, but never-the-less, up there… this divine…onlooker. Us???? We’ve got anchor persons, and talking heads. We’ve got politicians who decide life and death issues on the basis of their media consultants. That’s what we’ve got!
(Eddie spits up.)
Bonnie: Oh boy, Eddie, I think I’m going to need a mangnifying glass to find what’s left of your good points. What is going on with you?
Eddie: Suck my dick.
Bonnie: No, c’mon. I’m being serious here. I thought you had this girlfriend...and it was this…significant, y’know, mutually fulfilling, blah blah blah, relationship…
Eddie: Things have taken a turn for the worse. That’s all. Suck my dick.
Bonnie: Like what?
Eddie: She doesn’t love me.
Bonnie: Who?
Eddie: My girlfriend.
Bonnie: What do you mean?
Eddie: What do you mean, what do I mean? My girlfriend doesn’t want me.
Bonnie: Oh sure she does.
Eddie: No.
Bonnie: Why?
Eddie: I don’t know, but she doesn’t.
Bonnie: Are you sure?
Eddie: Bonnie, I’m a real person. Y’know. I’m not some God damn TV image here, okay?! I mean, you know that right? Don’t you know that…
Eddie begins jumping up and down like a little boy having a tantrum...
Eddie: Suck my dick, okay…suck my…SUCK MY DICK!
Bonnie: You know if your manner of speech is any way of reflection of what goes on inside your head you are lucky you can even tie your shoes.
Eddie turns and stares at her…
Eddie: Oh, You want me to be kinder? Is that it? Kinder, gentler?! Well, I say, “NO!” Be harder. Be colder. Be a rock. Or polyurathane. That’s my advice.
He holds up his whiskey glass to the light.
Eddie: I say be a thing…and LIVE!
Bonnie: Have you ever considered that maybe you’re doing a little to much shit there, Eddie. I mean even outlaws have to take precautionary measures...
Eddie: Maybe you’re right…….Do you ever have that experience where your thoughts are like these totally separate, totally self sustaining phone booths in this vast uninhabited shopping mall in your head? Do you ever have that experience?
She looks at him.
Eddie: I don’t feel loved! Even if she loves me, I don’t feel it! I don’t feel it…and…Y’know…I’m sick of it, okay! Y’know what I mean?!
Bonnie: I’m going to go.
Eddie: What for?
Bonnie: Home, y’know. My kid...
