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Thursday, January 31, 2008
Johnny Gunter on the Apocalypse
Johnny Gunter on the Apocalypse
The third war set everyone back to zero. It wasn’t much of war, when push comes to shove. In fact, the right person at the right time could most likely sleep through all of it. A few major bombs, a few major cities. The rest came falling apart in plans conceived by bigwigs. They all decided that preserving a particular way of life was mostly impossible at that point. At the same time, though, they wanted to start a new, possibly wait awhile for all the lesser-evolved species to die off in quick succession, whether it was of starvation, manslaughter or shear boredom.
Yet, such an elaborate plan of a more than just periodic control wouldn’t keep anyone tied down. All people need to breathe free once in awhile, to slowly tear away at the chains that keep them strapped down to the floor, and in this case, inhaling the dust and dirt from the surrounding underground.
Johnny Gunter wasn’t one of these people. He was the guy who basically slept through it all. The right person at the right time can hide away from anything. For Johnny, it would become a familiar choice, one that helped him reevaluate all of life’s temporary vices once again. He understood what was happening, and yet didn’t necessarily know where it was all going. High school was confusing enough with the homework, and the idea that everyone didn’t necessarily have to do it. They could look up a synopsis online or possibly just copy it off of somebody else.
Wendy Barletta was one of those people. She figured out around seventh grade or so, that first off, there were certain gullible bodies in the world, and second that these bodies would most likely do anything for her if the inclination happened to occur. She just had to smile, possibly wear something low cut, and lean over at just the right time. The average adolescent boy would be swooning over thoughts of Wendy Barletta in the deep confines of his bedroom, until they eventually realized the truth behind such a ruptured fantasy. They were being used on a regular basis.
Johnny knew the basic path she took with all the callow libidos before her, and yet he couldn’t necessarily help himself when such an inclination occurred at the back lab table in Mr. Coplin’s biology class. He thought that maybe things would be structured differently, that she would fall for his boyish charm, his knowledge of cheap wines and punk rock bands from the mid-to-late seventies, “Disco sucks” being a floating participle on all their sweaty poster faces. He figured it would be easier to send her through the loop. He was only mediocre at Biology anyways. If she wanted to copy his answers, what was the harm in it, just so long as it went down in the right location?
Johnny became good at playing the lovesick fool. She eventually couldn’t take the tension anymore. On a lonely February thirteenth, he made the first move, and she didn’t think to resist for the sake of Biology. Their half-hearted attempt at a relationship lasted for what was going on three months. They didn’t ever truly connect in a grandiose sense; so much as they developed a quaint routine with one another. Every weekday when they were assigned homework, both would retire to one of their basements, copy answers and make-out in quick succession. It was an understandable addiction. Both were puzzle pieces that fit close together, but didn’t ever look right from far away. Eventually one would have to get bored with the way the picture looked.
It was Wendy who broke the news lightly before first period; a break-up message that stretched past room 103, and almost spread to the cafeteria. Neither one was popular enough to warrant any kind of outside interest. People would walk past their held hands and either feel undeniably lonely or, in most cases, simply laugh at such an odd-looking couple. Two less than attractive sixteen-year-olds deciding to tear apart one another for the sake of youth, boredom and biology lab answers.
He wasn’t crushed at first. In fact, Johnny was mostly expecting such an untimely ultimatum. He first suspected something was up when he saw her flirting with Ted Geisel outside the auditorium a week before. Each jilted make-out session that subsequent week was lacking passion, even if both parties didn’t quite understand the definition yet. In any case, it led the two of them to opposite sides of the state that weekend.
Johnny had lied to his parents before the break-up, Wendy having planned earlier for the both of them to travel to Hartford. Wendy’s sister, Anna, was planning an all-out bash, two days full of barely legal actions and the consumption of varying narcotics. It was supposed to be a big deal, their first reckless trip together, and yet upon the initial lie, Johnny didn’t necessarily see any of it fleshing out. He needed an escape, though. A place to go and be alone, possibly write some aged acoustic masterpiece only to later hide it in his top desk drawer amongst ticket stubs and memories that would never happen.
The cabin was out in the middle of nowhere. It was his grandfather’s, the psychiatrist. Robert Sr. would go up there often, just to be alone, and to occasionally shoot furry things here and there. Robert Jr. had inherited it from his father roughly a year earlier, the funeral being an omen of things to come. Johnny stole the key from his father’s oak desk, the names of Gunter’s past inscribed in the one pull-out drawer, knowing that his father probably wouldn’t notice. There were big games that weekend, office social events, millions of other potential problems to worry about.
He wouldn’t notice the two bottles of wine either, or the cans of beer, the firewood, and his copy of Born to Run, all minor vices taken for granted. Johnny’s small green Ford had random items hidden all over it, none in plain view, his mother waving him goodbye without noticing, or having any real recollection of what went missing. Their house was like that; a cold enclosure, monuments from the past, faded photographs of family members and their trophies won following league regulations, all meticulously placed on shelves next to brown cardboard boxes. Nobody noticed much of anything once it was gone.
Friday night blurred into Saturday, which later blacked out into Sunday. A weekend spent alone, to wallow in adolescent self-pity, thinking about the good times everyone else was having. Johnny slept in late that Sunday morning, too hungover to hear the random bangs off in the distance, the eventual screams from frightened parties, the planes and all-terrain vehicles gathering up all the wondering lost. The cabin was hidden behind a forest, the dirt road leading to its sanctuary easy enough to ignore. No one noticed it. No one took the time to think about anyone being up there. It was a quick sweep, what was meant to be a clean sweep. People forgot or neglected to remember what they saw as they quickly passed it by. Some eyes weren’t trained well enough to notice.
Nonetheless, Johnny couldn’t help but feel a little strange about the fact that the power was out in the cabin. It was two P.M., the vast surrounding area only offering familiar silences. The morning had been full of missed excitement, and although there were still vague traces of all the initial actions, the big plan finally settling all those jumbled observers, disoriented and above all else fearful for everything they once knew, Johnny was mostly oblivious.
He figured there was a logical explanation for the lack of power same as there was for his headache. The bottles sat vacant on the living room coffee table, staples of what his life was slowly becoming. A life without the convenience of mid-afternoon make-out sessions with Wendy. His street cred was diminishing. There was not a doubt in his mind that upon returning to the tainted hallways of East Brooke High, he would have to once again lower his standards. Girls like Wendy only came around once every fourth period.
As the slow sink of his stomach started to settle after eating a bowl of cereal, and resting for another two hours, Johnny decided it was roughly time for him to venture home. He had school the next morning, a barrage of homework assignments left unfinished, Biology all of a sudden lacking the little appeal it once had. He packed up his few belongings, burying the wine and beer bottles in a brown paper bag in the woods behind the cabin. It was like a dead body his parents couldn’t know about. They needed to be left in the dark about all his extracurricular activities, no matter how normal they seemed.
His Ford rumbled as it started; a familiar sound that would sporadically occur every few days or so. Johnny pulled around in the small lot and drove down the dirt road on his way back to civilization. He thought about how despite the fact that he had a car, a readily available mode to pick up stranded women in high school, it never really offered any kind of solace. It was as if things were always specifically one way, and even the onset of something terrible wouldn’t necessarily change any of it.
The roads were vacant for awhile. No cars coming one way or the other. Then he saw a few broken down along the side of the road; some with their lights still on, but no drivers present. Johnny felt that this was a bit odd, and yet saw no reason to continue thinking about it. He had so many other things on his mind; Wendy’s weekend for one. He thought about asking her friends about what had happened; her Friday and Saturday on campus, spent going through the motions until the next potential heartbreak. She would have problems of her own, deciding where life was going.
Johnny soon grew paranoid as he continued to pass more broken down cars, and then it all started to come together. A cluttered mess on the highway. They were randomly stopped in the middle of the road, no plausible explanation for why. He continued to drive, though, figuring everything would flesh out once he got home. His parents would be there. They would tell him what had happened, where the progress of the human race was inevitably headed.
Each stranded vehicle made him drive faster. It was like a video game, dodging clumps of cars, sometimes driving on the side, and always checking his rearview. He felt like he was being followed, or watched. An expensive practical joke. A way of seeing life differently. He was being broadcast; it was part of a new program happening, and yet it felt strange that something so elaborate would be occurring near New Haven. There was never anything going on in East Brooke. Everyone just had their own plans. Their own personal choices, modes of production.
As Johnny took the exit, he saw everything he was more than used to. The road felt normal, and with the exception of the stranded cars, nothing had really changed at all. His neighborhood was just as hushed; the Gunter house sitting like any other, squeezed into the familiar fold of suburbia, appearing exactly the same. Johnny slowly opened the second wooden garage door with his key. The remote never existed for this door. It was old fashioned, taking more time and energy. He pulled his car in and shut the door behind it. Robert’s BMW sat comfortably in the other garage, not a scratch on it. Johnny stepped into the lily-wallpapered kitchen and called out in the faintest of voices.
“Hello? Mom? Dad?” There was no answer, a quick search around the house leading to no plausible explanation. Perhaps they were just out, he thought. Maybe they were unwinding from a similar weekend in a safe location. Nonetheless, the power was also out in the house, which to Johnny, seemed a bit unsettling. He opened the fridge and ate some cold leftover pizza from that Friday afternoon. Johnny then walked into the living room, the couch being a staple of his father’s suburban achievement, now vacant. The phones were dead in the house, and Johnny’s cell only made a few fluctuating noises before eventually dying on him later that night.
He had no solutions, no flick of a switch around to tune into the outside world. The sun was slowly setting on his quaint little neighborhood. All the other houses were dark, no beacons in any windows. Johnny decided against doing his homework that night, locking all the white doors and finding Robert’s small revolver in the box under his parents’ bed. He loaded it for the first time in his life, and thought about how surprisingly surreal it all was, that he was so afraid with no legitimate explanation.
Johnny put his headphones on from his small portable CD player and listened to OK Computer, while he tried to be tired enough to simply conk out. He checked his watch with the small flashlight his Uncle Sam had bought him the previous Christmas. It didn’t run on batteries. All a person had to do was shake it to get light. Johnny’s uncle always bought him stupid somewhat useless gifts for varying events. There were swiss army knives, and a barrage of thermal clothing. Several devices conceived of for hunters and fisherman, and yet Johnny was neither. He couldn’t just fall into the niche. There were so many other things worth buying. He wanted obscure albums, movies only shown to limited audiences; various drugs banned in certain countries, all the cherished items teenagers thrive on.
It was two A.M., no onset of drowsiness setting in. Johnny walked through his dark upstairs hallway into the bathroom. Surprisingly all the water was still working, nothing having been backed up. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out the vial of Nightquil, taking a quick shot of green liquid and patiently waiting for it to sink in.
Johnny slept in through noon that next morning, his father’s gun resting quietly on his dresser next to the CD player. When he looked out his window with half-open eyes, he saw the spacious white capsule lying in the middle of his backyard. Johnny was just checking the weather, and yet all of a sudden an answer had magically fallen from the sky.
He quickly stepped outside into his backyard, turning the small latched on the side, and opening it up. Above all the canned goods, the sharp pointy objects, the ammo, another revolver, suicide capsule and other various objects meant for science fiction fans, was a note. It sat passively in an envelope marked broadly with an American flag and a soaring eagle. Johnny ripped the left end of the envelope quickly as he unfolded the crisp letter and started to breathe in.
Dear United States Citizen,
If you are reading this, that means you missed out. The United State Government has tried to save as many people as possible. They were moved into underground bunkers placed at various locations in this great country of ours. Their placement as such was meant for their protection. The total destruction of most of our major cities has led myself and my cabinet to take the only plausible action we could. The nuclear fallout from these cities will eventually spread to all the surrounding areas, leading to disease, deformity, and eventually death.
Here’s the rough part. After locking all the doors to said bunkers, we all went into hiding for ourselves. There is no longer a United States Government because there is no longer a United States of America. The package in front of you is meant to help you with your transition to this new world, which is slowly falling apart at the seams. You have options. The small pill in the orange vial will end your life and hopefully your suffering or you can choose to survive.
There are enough supplies in here to last you for some time, but after that you’re on your own. Remember, this land is our land, do with it what you must, what you have to. The choice is completely left up to you. Freedom still exists in the hearts and souls of us all. Some of us just unfortunately missed the boat. I leave you with these last few words of advice. Be civil. There is no point in creating more war, not with the way things are.
Sincerely
Raymond M. Braddock,
Former President of the United States of America
Johnny crumbled the letter and let it fall back into the capsule. He thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of a few random gunshots being fired off in the distance. Johnny, feeling rushed by his impending doom, quickly pulled the capsule into his house through the back door. From that point on, like the letter casually reiterated, he was on his own, without much choice but to wait it out, hope for a new temporary solution. He locked the doors and started to gather supplies, hauling up in the finished basement of the house, all the food quickly catalogued into time of expiration on the available shelves.
He dragged the rusted black grill from his backyard and placed it in the basement as well. Johnny then began to drink his father’s scotch, organizing his pieces. He would be eating steak that night, before it went bad along with the rest of the country. The basement door was boarded from the inside that night; an arsenal of supplies and means to an end all placed on the right shelves in his basement. People wouldn’t think to notice Johnny, the few that were intent on looking for him or anyone else.
There was a stockpile of batteries in the upstairs closet, Mrs. Gunter having purchased them half-off after a Christmas sale. These helped Johnny pass the time for the first few days. He listened to the albums that meant something, the ones that he wasn’t sure he would ever hear again. Johnny had the remaining half cut of marijuana stashed in the Airwalk shoebox under his bed. That was gone in less time than the batteries, the alcohol soon following suit. He barely knew what was happening in the outside world, of even three blocks away. It seemed like the most plausible of solutions. He was good at waiting it all out, being left alone with just his thoughts, and empty notebooks full of misinterpreted emotions.
He waited a few days before eventually running down the batteries on his laptop computer while watching High Fidelity, his favorite movie, for the last time. All of the saved files were obsolete; the playlists of mixes made for Wendy now only a drifting fade in both their heads. Johnny couldn’t turn his thoughts off those first few days and as all his battery-powered means of escape slowly died out, he felt that the basement probably wasn’t the best of places to die. There was a vast world outside of the creaking stairs, and as day four rolled around, Johnny decided that if an eventual death did happen to occur outside of his parents’ house, then so be it. He was prepared, his Ford still with a full tank of gas.
Although, Johnny didn’t even think to open the second garage door by hand that Thursday afternoon. Robert’s spare set of keys for the gray BMW beckoned from the second desk drawer down. Johnny opened the garage door and sped out into the frantic solitude of his hometown, passing playgrounds where he would dream of being someone else, somebody with a larger life purpose. There were friends’ houses, now emptied, broken windows and glass lining the uncut lawns. It was a beautiful day despite the broken pieces lining the unpaved roads of this new suburban hole.
Johnny had several stops to make, before his eventual retreat back to what he knew all too well. The grocery store was full of lingering cans, not snatched up by violet illiterate wanders. He pushed his cart around the aisles, making sure to grab as many AA batteries as possible. Johnny froze suddenly as he turned down aisle11, frozen foods. All the lights in the cases were out, and yet the small dried puddle of red liquid leading down the tiled floor to the body of general manager Arthur Durbin, left Johnny with a stifling of his more then frequent lonesome thoughts; centered around how Wendy looked in her checkered skirt, and why some bands couldn’t top their first album.
The revolver sat coldly a few feet away, five shots left. Johnny slowly stepped past Arthur’s body, trying best not to stare at his frozen expression. He grabbed the cold piece of metal and added it to his collection. There was his father’s; the one from the fractured government and now Arthur’s last fragmented message to the world that left him behind. As Johnny pushed his cart past the checkout all he could think of was why hadn’t such a man waited for the suicide pill. The orange vial remained a last resort, taking up little to no space in Johnny’s front blue jeans pocket.
Johnny listened to “Only A Pawn in Their Game” as he drove the half a mile to the liquor store. It was mostly empty; the back freezer the only rock left unturned. Johnny grabbed a few boxes of wine and other fruity beverages that didn’t offer nearly as much edge as cold hard liquor, all the remaining town alcoholics having snatched it up before finding their own holes to crawl into. He didn’t know who was left or if anybody cared to find anybody else. The last ringing message of “You’re on your own kid” continued it’s persistent tapping in the back of Johnny’s head. He didn’t want to find anybody. People just managed to complicate affairs more so, the end of the world being no exception.
As Johnny pushed his father’s mid-life crisis to its limits climbing the large hill, and cruising past the one speed trap of a stop sign before eventually making it to East Brooke high school, he thought about how different everything would be if people had remained afraid, without acting on such a fear, if they had simply worked it out. He would have been in class, the looks from all the less than gracious spectators having turned everyone inside out. The halls were barely any different as Johnny walked down their lingering familiarity.
His father’s car was the only one in the faculty parking lot, the window he broke to get in, the only one shattered in the building. Everyone else figured that the brick monument on the hill offered little to no supplies and yet as Johnny spun the combination on his locker, he felt that the small private hiding places in the world were the best secrets out there.
The other cut he had bought from Drew Harvey the previous Thursday, remained intact, sitting in his red gym bag next to the pair of black mesh shorts he wore out of regulation. Johnny stuffed the plastic bag in his pocket and loudly slammed his locker. He started his slow retreat away from it all, the end of his high school career, no cap and gown, just a lack of education for all. There was nothing left to be learned, nothing to help any of them
Johnny only vaguely heard the tangled voices echoing in the upstairs hallway. He quickly froze and grabbed his father’s gun from out of the black backpack. They were angry, slightly youthful and there was more than one of them. Johnny thought about leaving at that instant, and yet the shear curiosity associated with actual human exchange, made such an inclination irresistible. He walked up the backset of red steps to the second floor. They were shouting from one of the science labs down the hall. Two voices, both men, smashing vials and laughing at the shear hysteria instilled in all those they once knew.
He slowly and calming approached the door. It was Mr. Coplin’s classroom, a dry smell of formaldehyde still filtering out into the hallway. Johnny turned and took a quick glimpse into the room, to measure up the scene, see where such an encounter was inevitably going. He didn’t know the two delinquents, both with stubble on their faces and long black hair, a few shiny piercings at random places on their faces.
They looked like graduates, past failures now reliving old glories, smashing whatever they could get their hands on, and yet there was more to it than that. It wasn’t just recklessness; these boyish excuses weren’t simply indulging in past glories. They were instead mindlessly going through the motions, and as Johnny saw her teary-eyed face (a less than familiar sight), her clothes ripped and torn, her mouth hushed with a strip of duct tape, and her arms tied with a brown extension chord wire, he knew what he had to do without thinking much about it.
It would be a swift motion, something that either turned out one way or another. He grabbed the Government Issue and pulled back the safety. It would be there to keep his father’s paranoia company. Johnny then stepped into the room, taking them both by surprise. He shot the taller one first; his black Slayer T-shirt quickly turning red as he coughed, fired one lone shot up into the air, and collapsed onto the ground, knocking a few wooden stools over. The shorter one put up a slightly larger fight, attempting to duck down behind one of the tables after his friend’s unpleasant demise.
Johnny didn’t think about any kind of valuable tactic, though. He knew they were as fear-stricken as he was, all means for survival becoming simplistic in nature. He shot him dead, hiding behind the table, trying to reload. Mercy was slowly becoming a difficult concept to imagine as no one could simply pretend like it was yet another calm and sunny day. The shorter one didn’t cough much or do anything but quickly let the sunlight reflect off of his pupils before sailing off into a more pleasant existence.
As he caught his breath and grabbed both of their weapons, also Government Issue, Johnny looked over at somebody he didn’t expect to see ever again. It was Wendy, wearing the same checkered skirt. She looked like hell if hell were still a distant thought. Instead, it was right in front of them, no longer any parallels to draw, petty differences to complain about. Johnny slowly peeled back the duct tape from her mouth, and helped her untie the extension chord letting it fall to the green and white tiled floor. She then caught her own breath before hugging Johnny tightly around the neck. It was a fresh start, a pill that some people chose to take, others deciding against it.
“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Wendy said as she caught her balance on the floor.
“Yeah, me neither. Who were those two?”
“I don’t know. They just kidnapped me after everything started happening.”
“Are there more of them?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, in any case, we should get out of here.”
“Alright.” Johnny and Wendy walked out into the hushed hallway, and towards the first staircase they spotted, grabbing the black backpack on the way. Robert’s car rolled out of the teacher’s lot taking the back way. The road that was normally closed with a “No Trespassing” sign was no longer subjected to the rules of personal opinion or convenience. Wendy started to breathe heavily as Johnny only loosely focused on the objects passing both of them by.
“So uh, do you wanna go on a burn run?” Johnny said as he pulled the bag out of his pocket and passed her the papers along with it.
“Have you been thinking ahead this whole time?”
“No, just since Sunday.”
“Well, alright, I can roll this, I think. Maybe you should stop, though. We’re gonna need gas later.”
“I will. I’ll stop when we get there.” Johnny took a few more back roads as the two made their slow crawl up to the mountain, a familiar spot for East Brooke students to unwind after a long and troublesome day of surviving the stampeding rumble of the hallway. He parked in between two trees and pulled his government issued yellow BIC lighter out of his pocket.
Wendy’s hands shook as she lit the joint and slowly inhaled. The heart-pounding rush of “what now?” loosely began to fade away as both starred off past the windshield into the woods. It was all still there, still growing, it didn’t look like something that was falling apart or was even close to such. Instead, it just felt like another normal day from the past, Johnny and Wendy ultimately deciding that maybe the spark stretched past Biology homework.
“So how are you not with all the other people right now?” Johnny asked.
“What other people?”
“Didn’t you read the note? Everyone’s underground, or mostly everyone, and we’re all just waiting for the nuclear fall out to make us sick before we die.”
“I didn’t hear anything about that.”
“Well, how did you get here?”
“I came home from Hartford Saturday and then I went to Ted’s party.”
“That still doesn’t explain anything. Where’s everyone else?”
“I got too drunk and ended up passing out in the basement where all their band equipment is. On Sunday morning, I went to drive home and that’s when those two guys got me.”
“And what happened with them?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it. Needless to say, I have no idea what the fuck’s going on, and it’d be nice to be filled in by somebody I know.”
Johnny took a low breath and started to tell her all the things he knew, how he had come back from the cabin with a similar confusion and then slowly started building his basement empire. Each person began to feel slightly more comfortable as time passed slower, explanations becoming clear almost fateful reasons as to why they were where they were. After a short walk in the woods, both started to remind one another of what the purpose of it all was.
Whether it was the alone time, or the jumbled mess of suburban living rooms, both Johnny and Wendy knew that they couldn’t maintain any sort of post-apocalyptic sanity without one another. He drove back down the hill as the sun calmly set on yet another seemingly uneventful day. The world was stale, and the little meetings and greetings occurring here and there, were only for the lone gunmen who thought to remind each other to reload occasionally.
Johnny opened the garage door and turned off the car. He led Wendy down into the familiar basement. It looked considerably different, piles of wrappers and cans lining the one corner. Supplies were on the opposite; all still spaced by date and time. Some would go bad within the week while other shiny packages with optimistic cartoon cereal spokesman would withstand longer like Johnny intended to.
They set the rest of the supplies down, as Johnny loaded the four large D-cell batteries into his portable blue and gray boombox. He then browsed the collection, all of the tight plastic cases alphabetized on the shelf, a Tuesday afternoon with nothing to do but organize. Wendy sat down on the red sectional couch, grabbing a magazine from the pile Johnny had swiped from the grocery store. It seemed strange to think about how none of the useless made-up news mattered anymore.
There weren’t any headlines with photoshopped pictures of mushroom clouds. Instead, it felt as if the world just simply stopped one day, all the zombies with their eyes open finding the right path to walk down at the fork in the road. They were enjoying varying conditions as morlocks, avoiding the sunlight and waiting for the winter to be over, so they could peak their heads out and breath in untainted air.
It was April, though; the rush of new movies awaiting summer release dates, now shelved like every other part that at one time meant something. Johnny and Wendy sat and listened to The Velvet Underground and Nico, as they read words from the past, and tried not to say what they were really thinking. It was a nice way to unwind after a day of polished discovery. They poured the boxed wine into clear plastic cups from garage sales and let it all slowly sink in. It was their life now, or at least for the time being.
They could hide underground with the choice to look out at the vastness of their familiar surroundings, or run away somewhere, look for more lost lovers like them, lingering amongst used cars and abandoned libraries. There was time enough at last to do everything, and yet both quickly fell asleep next to each other that night; the supposed screams and less than moral crimes happening outside their door, only partial influences on their lazy dreams of what was coming next, what was to become of the places they thought they were used to.
“Wake up” Wendy said as she cracked an egg on the skillet, over the grill, a few more bags of charcoal sitting in the one corner, patiently waiting to be burned and eventually turned to dust like so many unsuspecting citizens. Johnny and Wendy ate breakfast and discussed eventual plans, what they needed to do, explore, discover, and possibly run away from.
That particular day proved useful as they took the long way, back roads only, up to the local shopping mall. It was a ghost town, nobody breathing behind the lifted metal gates. However, there were vague traces of life, television sets knocked over, broken glass lining the beaten path, and certain pieces missing here and there. There was barely any food, and all the normal stops along the way, the CD store and bookstore, simply seemed obsolete.
After all, the town they lived in didn’t necessarily stock up on intellectual stimulation, unless of course it was a bestseller. No longer was anything nearly as marketable. Instead, there were simply empty baskets of goods left everywhere. It was like when a family took their kids trick-or-treating and left a full bowl of candy on the front porch. The first few parent-free deviants would take it all and move on to the next plentiful offering. There weren’t any rules, and even fewer consequences to dwell on.
As Johnny and Wendy loaded up the back trunk, once again finding a lone capsule sitting in the back lot by Sears, they didn’t take time to notice the spinning sounds around them, or the eyes that were fixated on their current position. Instead, it felt like a different kind of first date, except this time there wasn’t nearly as many options. No longer were there the shallow bodies lining the hallways with drugs and available living rooms. No, it was easier for both of them to simply pick and choose each other.
“So where are we going now?” Wendy asked as Johnny drove through the parking lot.
“I don’t know. I was thinking we could…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. They swarmed fast, all their cars rumbling with a fury of a thousand deaths, running into Robert’s BMW like it had done something, directly to wrong them. The air bag flew up and then slowly sputtered as the car spun around and eventually turned off. Pieces of glass from the driver’s side window had scraped Johnny’s face, a slow trail of blood running down his forehead, blinding him temporarily. Wendy became a wide-eyed vision as she breathed heavily, both of them waiting for what was to come next. Both their doors flung open, dirty fingernails pulling their bodies out and leading them off in opposite directions. Johnny couldn’t comprehend much, although his last conscience thoughts were beyond simplistic. Why hadn’t they stayed in the basement that day? What did the mall ever have to offer?
It was a small red barn, possibly a few miles away from the mall. The only light that shined down on Johnny’s bruised face came from the lanterns placed meticulously around it. He stood up slowly, feeling the coarse rope, binding his hands behind his back. He legs were barely working as Johnny attempted to catch his balance and get a feel for where he was exactly. Wendy was nowhere in sight, and the barn lacked any company from animals. He struggled with the rope for sometime before, eventually managing to squeeze out of the mediocre knots. Johnny always had thin wrists.
He then started walking towards the barn door. Trying to mask the slow creak as it opened, Johnny moved at a pace slower than imaginable, eventually stepping out into the cold kinship of the night. He listened for voices, for any sort of recognizable sounds. Her cough, scream or yawn. Nothing. Just blank black space. Johnny saw the mansion up on the hill. There were lanterns in the windows, shadows moving back and forth. He knew she was up there, in God knows what state, trying to find a reason why it all was this way. He couldn’t run, not with his leg in the condition it was. No car, and miles from home, Johnny didn’t have much choice, and yet he had no weapons, nothing to help the tables turn.
As he limped towards the red brick house, his thoughts all turned to mush, the endorphin levels in his brain rising steadily to help remedy the pain and keep the adrenaline company. With each step came a new elongated fury that would stretch past the confines of any normal man’s life. The stress of the job, or the slow ticking irritation of every customer were small and insignificant compared to what was brewing in Johnny as he kept getting closer and closer to the rest of his life. It was like a decision that was forced on him. It wasn’t like choosing a college or getting a job in town. This was the supposed end of the road, a die-hard situation.
Johnny stopped rushing the second he saw the first of them standing by the front door, reading a Playboy magazine with a shotgun in hand. He was in his early twenties, short, with shorter blonde hair. A Cretan of modern society if any kind of societal values still existed. Johnny quickly ducked down and started a slow retreat towards the other side of the house. There was another one of them in the back. He was older, a full-grown gray beard, and more of an attention span, his arms choking up on a similar shotgun.
Johnny turned and looked off in the opposite direction. He could escape into the woods, possibly make his way back to his parents’ house and hope for a better tomorrow, and yet at that point, as all of his indifference towards the human race periodically washed over him, Johnny couldn’t help but feel as if there wasn’t any point in planning ahead. They weren’t expecting anything. They weren’t anybody of interest, just some country hicks who managed to miss the first few blasts, and yet as Johnny slowly reached into his pocket, he found the available solution.
The old man would an easier try. He didn’t have much fight left in him. It would be simpler for him to swallow. Johnny crept along the side of the house, small blue pill in hand. As the shotgun turned in his general direction, he saw it all clear as day. It was too dark for a clean shot, and everyone’s vision was slowly coming apart from the radiation. Johnny tackled the man to the ground, the gun rolling down the hill without a single shot fired. He puts his hand over the man’s mouth, and let the small pill slip down his throat, as he elbowed him in the back of the head. It worked fast, a few muffled coughs soon listlessly fading in the silence of the night. The remaining shells in the man’s pocket were soon in Johnny’s as he stepped to the other side of the house and knocked the Playboy subscriber out with the back of his gun, grabbing the remaining red scattered shells he needed from the ground.
Then it was in through the front door, an unexpected path to whatever was next. It was a large foyer, small lamps set up at random places in the other rooms, no sounds or voices filtering down any kind of hallway. The upstairs seemed obvious, and yet Johnny was beyond fearful of what he might find, what the eventual outcome would be. He took his time up the steps, waiting patiently for any untimely sign of life.
There weren’t any whispers, just dimly lit blackness. He checked each room individually, searching for what he had lost once again, what was taken away and hadn’t left a single trace. Johnny thought it strange that the house was empty, the two men outside seeming like guards for a treasure they knew nothing about. As he walked back down the steps, he could vaguely see the outline of the younger one standing up outside, the glass window in the door providing Johnny with all the picture he needed.
The shot went through the wooden door, knocking the man down to the ground. He began to moan in-between muffled bloody coughs. Johnny quickly reloaded and waited by the door. What could have been a minute or ten, Johnny stood waiting and listening to the man outside slowly pass. The footsteps were fast as they approached; they sounded soft on the ground. He heard the voice through the hole in the door.
“Peter? Peter, are you…?” Johnny opened the door, pointing the shotgun at the frightened boy on his knees. He wasn’t much older than thirteen, blonde hair and a face covered in dirt from whatever the previous week had to offer. The boy’s hand slowly reached for Peter’s lonesome shotgun. A slow motion that didn’t go much further than that.
“Stop. Don’t move.”
“I… I was…”
“I don’t care. Where’s my girlfriend?”
“She’s in the other barn with Keith.”
“Don’t follow me.” Johnny said as he grabbed the shotgun from the ground and slowly walked off in another unfamiliar direction.
As the boy sat down on the ground next to his dead brother, he heard the eventual shots from the barn, the loud rumble of somebody deciding on what the best possible discourse was. He heard the car engine sputtering, before it eventually drove off, down the road, and yet the thought hadn’t occurred to him that he was completely alone in the world. In fact, it took days for it to sink in. Afterwards it would just seem like something that didn’t happen. The shear loneliness would make even the most vivid of memories slowly fade with the daylight. It would become easier to stay in one place, avoiding all the grounded noises taking off in the distance.
The End
The third war set everyone back to zero. It wasn’t much of war, when push comes to shove. In fact, the right person at the right time could most likely sleep through all of it. A few major bombs, a few major cities. The rest came falling apart in plans conceived by bigwigs. They all decided that preserving a particular way of life was mostly impossible at that point. At the same time, though, they wanted to start a new, possibly wait awhile for all the lesser-evolved species to die off in quick succession, whether it was of starvation, manslaughter or shear boredom.
Yet, such an elaborate plan of a more than just periodic control wouldn’t keep anyone tied down. All people need to breathe free once in awhile, to slowly tear away at the chains that keep them strapped down to the floor, and in this case, inhaling the dust and dirt from the surrounding underground.
Johnny Gunter wasn’t one of these people. He was the guy who basically slept through it all. The right person at the right time can hide away from anything. For Johnny, it would become a familiar choice, one that helped him reevaluate all of life’s temporary vices once again. He understood what was happening, and yet didn’t necessarily know where it was all going. High school was confusing enough with the homework, and the idea that everyone didn’t necessarily have to do it. They could look up a synopsis online or possibly just copy it off of somebody else.
Wendy Barletta was one of those people. She figured out around seventh grade or so, that first off, there were certain gullible bodies in the world, and second that these bodies would most likely do anything for her if the inclination happened to occur. She just had to smile, possibly wear something low cut, and lean over at just the right time. The average adolescent boy would be swooning over thoughts of Wendy Barletta in the deep confines of his bedroom, until they eventually realized the truth behind such a ruptured fantasy. They were being used on a regular basis.
Johnny knew the basic path she took with all the callow libidos before her, and yet he couldn’t necessarily help himself when such an inclination occurred at the back lab table in Mr. Coplin’s biology class. He thought that maybe things would be structured differently, that she would fall for his boyish charm, his knowledge of cheap wines and punk rock bands from the mid-to-late seventies, “Disco sucks” being a floating participle on all their sweaty poster faces. He figured it would be easier to send her through the loop. He was only mediocre at Biology anyways. If she wanted to copy his answers, what was the harm in it, just so long as it went down in the right location?
Johnny became good at playing the lovesick fool. She eventually couldn’t take the tension anymore. On a lonely February thirteenth, he made the first move, and she didn’t think to resist for the sake of Biology. Their half-hearted attempt at a relationship lasted for what was going on three months. They didn’t ever truly connect in a grandiose sense; so much as they developed a quaint routine with one another. Every weekday when they were assigned homework, both would retire to one of their basements, copy answers and make-out in quick succession. It was an understandable addiction. Both were puzzle pieces that fit close together, but didn’t ever look right from far away. Eventually one would have to get bored with the way the picture looked.
It was Wendy who broke the news lightly before first period; a break-up message that stretched past room 103, and almost spread to the cafeteria. Neither one was popular enough to warrant any kind of outside interest. People would walk past their held hands and either feel undeniably lonely or, in most cases, simply laugh at such an odd-looking couple. Two less than attractive sixteen-year-olds deciding to tear apart one another for the sake of youth, boredom and biology lab answers.
He wasn’t crushed at first. In fact, Johnny was mostly expecting such an untimely ultimatum. He first suspected something was up when he saw her flirting with Ted Geisel outside the auditorium a week before. Each jilted make-out session that subsequent week was lacking passion, even if both parties didn’t quite understand the definition yet. In any case, it led the two of them to opposite sides of the state that weekend.
Johnny had lied to his parents before the break-up, Wendy having planned earlier for the both of them to travel to Hartford. Wendy’s sister, Anna, was planning an all-out bash, two days full of barely legal actions and the consumption of varying narcotics. It was supposed to be a big deal, their first reckless trip together, and yet upon the initial lie, Johnny didn’t necessarily see any of it fleshing out. He needed an escape, though. A place to go and be alone, possibly write some aged acoustic masterpiece only to later hide it in his top desk drawer amongst ticket stubs and memories that would never happen.
The cabin was out in the middle of nowhere. It was his grandfather’s, the psychiatrist. Robert Sr. would go up there often, just to be alone, and to occasionally shoot furry things here and there. Robert Jr. had inherited it from his father roughly a year earlier, the funeral being an omen of things to come. Johnny stole the key from his father’s oak desk, the names of Gunter’s past inscribed in the one pull-out drawer, knowing that his father probably wouldn’t notice. There were big games that weekend, office social events, millions of other potential problems to worry about.
He wouldn’t notice the two bottles of wine either, or the cans of beer, the firewood, and his copy of Born to Run, all minor vices taken for granted. Johnny’s small green Ford had random items hidden all over it, none in plain view, his mother waving him goodbye without noticing, or having any real recollection of what went missing. Their house was like that; a cold enclosure, monuments from the past, faded photographs of family members and their trophies won following league regulations, all meticulously placed on shelves next to brown cardboard boxes. Nobody noticed much of anything once it was gone.
Friday night blurred into Saturday, which later blacked out into Sunday. A weekend spent alone, to wallow in adolescent self-pity, thinking about the good times everyone else was having. Johnny slept in late that Sunday morning, too hungover to hear the random bangs off in the distance, the eventual screams from frightened parties, the planes and all-terrain vehicles gathering up all the wondering lost. The cabin was hidden behind a forest, the dirt road leading to its sanctuary easy enough to ignore. No one noticed it. No one took the time to think about anyone being up there. It was a quick sweep, what was meant to be a clean sweep. People forgot or neglected to remember what they saw as they quickly passed it by. Some eyes weren’t trained well enough to notice.
Nonetheless, Johnny couldn’t help but feel a little strange about the fact that the power was out in the cabin. It was two P.M., the vast surrounding area only offering familiar silences. The morning had been full of missed excitement, and although there were still vague traces of all the initial actions, the big plan finally settling all those jumbled observers, disoriented and above all else fearful for everything they once knew, Johnny was mostly oblivious.
He figured there was a logical explanation for the lack of power same as there was for his headache. The bottles sat vacant on the living room coffee table, staples of what his life was slowly becoming. A life without the convenience of mid-afternoon make-out sessions with Wendy. His street cred was diminishing. There was not a doubt in his mind that upon returning to the tainted hallways of East Brooke High, he would have to once again lower his standards. Girls like Wendy only came around once every fourth period.
As the slow sink of his stomach started to settle after eating a bowl of cereal, and resting for another two hours, Johnny decided it was roughly time for him to venture home. He had school the next morning, a barrage of homework assignments left unfinished, Biology all of a sudden lacking the little appeal it once had. He packed up his few belongings, burying the wine and beer bottles in a brown paper bag in the woods behind the cabin. It was like a dead body his parents couldn’t know about. They needed to be left in the dark about all his extracurricular activities, no matter how normal they seemed.
His Ford rumbled as it started; a familiar sound that would sporadically occur every few days or so. Johnny pulled around in the small lot and drove down the dirt road on his way back to civilization. He thought about how despite the fact that he had a car, a readily available mode to pick up stranded women in high school, it never really offered any kind of solace. It was as if things were always specifically one way, and even the onset of something terrible wouldn’t necessarily change any of it.
The roads were vacant for awhile. No cars coming one way or the other. Then he saw a few broken down along the side of the road; some with their lights still on, but no drivers present. Johnny felt that this was a bit odd, and yet saw no reason to continue thinking about it. He had so many other things on his mind; Wendy’s weekend for one. He thought about asking her friends about what had happened; her Friday and Saturday on campus, spent going through the motions until the next potential heartbreak. She would have problems of her own, deciding where life was going.
Johnny soon grew paranoid as he continued to pass more broken down cars, and then it all started to come together. A cluttered mess on the highway. They were randomly stopped in the middle of the road, no plausible explanation for why. He continued to drive, though, figuring everything would flesh out once he got home. His parents would be there. They would tell him what had happened, where the progress of the human race was inevitably headed.
Each stranded vehicle made him drive faster. It was like a video game, dodging clumps of cars, sometimes driving on the side, and always checking his rearview. He felt like he was being followed, or watched. An expensive practical joke. A way of seeing life differently. He was being broadcast; it was part of a new program happening, and yet it felt strange that something so elaborate would be occurring near New Haven. There was never anything going on in East Brooke. Everyone just had their own plans. Their own personal choices, modes of production.
As Johnny took the exit, he saw everything he was more than used to. The road felt normal, and with the exception of the stranded cars, nothing had really changed at all. His neighborhood was just as hushed; the Gunter house sitting like any other, squeezed into the familiar fold of suburbia, appearing exactly the same. Johnny slowly opened the second wooden garage door with his key. The remote never existed for this door. It was old fashioned, taking more time and energy. He pulled his car in and shut the door behind it. Robert’s BMW sat comfortably in the other garage, not a scratch on it. Johnny stepped into the lily-wallpapered kitchen and called out in the faintest of voices.
“Hello? Mom? Dad?” There was no answer, a quick search around the house leading to no plausible explanation. Perhaps they were just out, he thought. Maybe they were unwinding from a similar weekend in a safe location. Nonetheless, the power was also out in the house, which to Johnny, seemed a bit unsettling. He opened the fridge and ate some cold leftover pizza from that Friday afternoon. Johnny then walked into the living room, the couch being a staple of his father’s suburban achievement, now vacant. The phones were dead in the house, and Johnny’s cell only made a few fluctuating noises before eventually dying on him later that night.
He had no solutions, no flick of a switch around to tune into the outside world. The sun was slowly setting on his quaint little neighborhood. All the other houses were dark, no beacons in any windows. Johnny decided against doing his homework that night, locking all the white doors and finding Robert’s small revolver in the box under his parents’ bed. He loaded it for the first time in his life, and thought about how surprisingly surreal it all was, that he was so afraid with no legitimate explanation.
Johnny put his headphones on from his small portable CD player and listened to OK Computer, while he tried to be tired enough to simply conk out. He checked his watch with the small flashlight his Uncle Sam had bought him the previous Christmas. It didn’t run on batteries. All a person had to do was shake it to get light. Johnny’s uncle always bought him stupid somewhat useless gifts for varying events. There were swiss army knives, and a barrage of thermal clothing. Several devices conceived of for hunters and fisherman, and yet Johnny was neither. He couldn’t just fall into the niche. There were so many other things worth buying. He wanted obscure albums, movies only shown to limited audiences; various drugs banned in certain countries, all the cherished items teenagers thrive on.
It was two A.M., no onset of drowsiness setting in. Johnny walked through his dark upstairs hallway into the bathroom. Surprisingly all the water was still working, nothing having been backed up. He opened the cabinet behind the mirror and pulled out the vial of Nightquil, taking a quick shot of green liquid and patiently waiting for it to sink in.
Johnny slept in through noon that next morning, his father’s gun resting quietly on his dresser next to the CD player. When he looked out his window with half-open eyes, he saw the spacious white capsule lying in the middle of his backyard. Johnny was just checking the weather, and yet all of a sudden an answer had magically fallen from the sky.
He quickly stepped outside into his backyard, turning the small latched on the side, and opening it up. Above all the canned goods, the sharp pointy objects, the ammo, another revolver, suicide capsule and other various objects meant for science fiction fans, was a note. It sat passively in an envelope marked broadly with an American flag and a soaring eagle. Johnny ripped the left end of the envelope quickly as he unfolded the crisp letter and started to breathe in.
Dear United States Citizen,
If you are reading this, that means you missed out. The United State Government has tried to save as many people as possible. They were moved into underground bunkers placed at various locations in this great country of ours. Their placement as such was meant for their protection. The total destruction of most of our major cities has led myself and my cabinet to take the only plausible action we could. The nuclear fallout from these cities will eventually spread to all the surrounding areas, leading to disease, deformity, and eventually death.
Here’s the rough part. After locking all the doors to said bunkers, we all went into hiding for ourselves. There is no longer a United States Government because there is no longer a United States of America. The package in front of you is meant to help you with your transition to this new world, which is slowly falling apart at the seams. You have options. The small pill in the orange vial will end your life and hopefully your suffering or you can choose to survive.
There are enough supplies in here to last you for some time, but after that you’re on your own. Remember, this land is our land, do with it what you must, what you have to. The choice is completely left up to you. Freedom still exists in the hearts and souls of us all. Some of us just unfortunately missed the boat. I leave you with these last few words of advice. Be civil. There is no point in creating more war, not with the way things are.
Sincerely
Raymond M. Braddock,
Former President of the United States of America
Johnny crumbled the letter and let it fall back into the capsule. He thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of a few random gunshots being fired off in the distance. Johnny, feeling rushed by his impending doom, quickly pulled the capsule into his house through the back door. From that point on, like the letter casually reiterated, he was on his own, without much choice but to wait it out, hope for a new temporary solution. He locked the doors and started to gather supplies, hauling up in the finished basement of the house, all the food quickly catalogued into time of expiration on the available shelves.
He dragged the rusted black grill from his backyard and placed it in the basement as well. Johnny then began to drink his father’s scotch, organizing his pieces. He would be eating steak that night, before it went bad along with the rest of the country. The basement door was boarded from the inside that night; an arsenal of supplies and means to an end all placed on the right shelves in his basement. People wouldn’t think to notice Johnny, the few that were intent on looking for him or anyone else.
There was a stockpile of batteries in the upstairs closet, Mrs. Gunter having purchased them half-off after a Christmas sale. These helped Johnny pass the time for the first few days. He listened to the albums that meant something, the ones that he wasn’t sure he would ever hear again. Johnny had the remaining half cut of marijuana stashed in the Airwalk shoebox under his bed. That was gone in less time than the batteries, the alcohol soon following suit. He barely knew what was happening in the outside world, of even three blocks away. It seemed like the most plausible of solutions. He was good at waiting it all out, being left alone with just his thoughts, and empty notebooks full of misinterpreted emotions.
He waited a few days before eventually running down the batteries on his laptop computer while watching High Fidelity, his favorite movie, for the last time. All of the saved files were obsolete; the playlists of mixes made for Wendy now only a drifting fade in both their heads. Johnny couldn’t turn his thoughts off those first few days and as all his battery-powered means of escape slowly died out, he felt that the basement probably wasn’t the best of places to die. There was a vast world outside of the creaking stairs, and as day four rolled around, Johnny decided that if an eventual death did happen to occur outside of his parents’ house, then so be it. He was prepared, his Ford still with a full tank of gas.
Although, Johnny didn’t even think to open the second garage door by hand that Thursday afternoon. Robert’s spare set of keys for the gray BMW beckoned from the second desk drawer down. Johnny opened the garage door and sped out into the frantic solitude of his hometown, passing playgrounds where he would dream of being someone else, somebody with a larger life purpose. There were friends’ houses, now emptied, broken windows and glass lining the uncut lawns. It was a beautiful day despite the broken pieces lining the unpaved roads of this new suburban hole.
Johnny had several stops to make, before his eventual retreat back to what he knew all too well. The grocery store was full of lingering cans, not snatched up by violet illiterate wanders. He pushed his cart around the aisles, making sure to grab as many AA batteries as possible. Johnny froze suddenly as he turned down aisle11, frozen foods. All the lights in the cases were out, and yet the small dried puddle of red liquid leading down the tiled floor to the body of general manager Arthur Durbin, left Johnny with a stifling of his more then frequent lonesome thoughts; centered around how Wendy looked in her checkered skirt, and why some bands couldn’t top their first album.
The revolver sat coldly a few feet away, five shots left. Johnny slowly stepped past Arthur’s body, trying best not to stare at his frozen expression. He grabbed the cold piece of metal and added it to his collection. There was his father’s; the one from the fractured government and now Arthur’s last fragmented message to the world that left him behind. As Johnny pushed his cart past the checkout all he could think of was why hadn’t such a man waited for the suicide pill. The orange vial remained a last resort, taking up little to no space in Johnny’s front blue jeans pocket.
Johnny listened to “Only A Pawn in Their Game” as he drove the half a mile to the liquor store. It was mostly empty; the back freezer the only rock left unturned. Johnny grabbed a few boxes of wine and other fruity beverages that didn’t offer nearly as much edge as cold hard liquor, all the remaining town alcoholics having snatched it up before finding their own holes to crawl into. He didn’t know who was left or if anybody cared to find anybody else. The last ringing message of “You’re on your own kid” continued it’s persistent tapping in the back of Johnny’s head. He didn’t want to find anybody. People just managed to complicate affairs more so, the end of the world being no exception.
As Johnny pushed his father’s mid-life crisis to its limits climbing the large hill, and cruising past the one speed trap of a stop sign before eventually making it to East Brooke high school, he thought about how different everything would be if people had remained afraid, without acting on such a fear, if they had simply worked it out. He would have been in class, the looks from all the less than gracious spectators having turned everyone inside out. The halls were barely any different as Johnny walked down their lingering familiarity.
His father’s car was the only one in the faculty parking lot, the window he broke to get in, the only one shattered in the building. Everyone else figured that the brick monument on the hill offered little to no supplies and yet as Johnny spun the combination on his locker, he felt that the small private hiding places in the world were the best secrets out there.
The other cut he had bought from Drew Harvey the previous Thursday, remained intact, sitting in his red gym bag next to the pair of black mesh shorts he wore out of regulation. Johnny stuffed the plastic bag in his pocket and loudly slammed his locker. He started his slow retreat away from it all, the end of his high school career, no cap and gown, just a lack of education for all. There was nothing left to be learned, nothing to help any of them
Johnny only vaguely heard the tangled voices echoing in the upstairs hallway. He quickly froze and grabbed his father’s gun from out of the black backpack. They were angry, slightly youthful and there was more than one of them. Johnny thought about leaving at that instant, and yet the shear curiosity associated with actual human exchange, made such an inclination irresistible. He walked up the backset of red steps to the second floor. They were shouting from one of the science labs down the hall. Two voices, both men, smashing vials and laughing at the shear hysteria instilled in all those they once knew.
He slowly and calming approached the door. It was Mr. Coplin’s classroom, a dry smell of formaldehyde still filtering out into the hallway. Johnny turned and took a quick glimpse into the room, to measure up the scene, see where such an encounter was inevitably going. He didn’t know the two delinquents, both with stubble on their faces and long black hair, a few shiny piercings at random places on their faces.
They looked like graduates, past failures now reliving old glories, smashing whatever they could get their hands on, and yet there was more to it than that. It wasn’t just recklessness; these boyish excuses weren’t simply indulging in past glories. They were instead mindlessly going through the motions, and as Johnny saw her teary-eyed face (a less than familiar sight), her clothes ripped and torn, her mouth hushed with a strip of duct tape, and her arms tied with a brown extension chord wire, he knew what he had to do without thinking much about it.
It would be a swift motion, something that either turned out one way or another. He grabbed the Government Issue and pulled back the safety. It would be there to keep his father’s paranoia company. Johnny then stepped into the room, taking them both by surprise. He shot the taller one first; his black Slayer T-shirt quickly turning red as he coughed, fired one lone shot up into the air, and collapsed onto the ground, knocking a few wooden stools over. The shorter one put up a slightly larger fight, attempting to duck down behind one of the tables after his friend’s unpleasant demise.
Johnny didn’t think about any kind of valuable tactic, though. He knew they were as fear-stricken as he was, all means for survival becoming simplistic in nature. He shot him dead, hiding behind the table, trying to reload. Mercy was slowly becoming a difficult concept to imagine as no one could simply pretend like it was yet another calm and sunny day. The shorter one didn’t cough much or do anything but quickly let the sunlight reflect off of his pupils before sailing off into a more pleasant existence.
As he caught his breath and grabbed both of their weapons, also Government Issue, Johnny looked over at somebody he didn’t expect to see ever again. It was Wendy, wearing the same checkered skirt. She looked like hell if hell were still a distant thought. Instead, it was right in front of them, no longer any parallels to draw, petty differences to complain about. Johnny slowly peeled back the duct tape from her mouth, and helped her untie the extension chord letting it fall to the green and white tiled floor. She then caught her own breath before hugging Johnny tightly around the neck. It was a fresh start, a pill that some people chose to take, others deciding against it.
“I can’t believe you’re still here,” Wendy said as she caught her balance on the floor.
“Yeah, me neither. Who were those two?”
“I don’t know. They just kidnapped me after everything started happening.”
“Are there more of them?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, in any case, we should get out of here.”
“Alright.” Johnny and Wendy walked out into the hushed hallway, and towards the first staircase they spotted, grabbing the black backpack on the way. Robert’s car rolled out of the teacher’s lot taking the back way. The road that was normally closed with a “No Trespassing” sign was no longer subjected to the rules of personal opinion or convenience. Wendy started to breathe heavily as Johnny only loosely focused on the objects passing both of them by.
“So uh, do you wanna go on a burn run?” Johnny said as he pulled the bag out of his pocket and passed her the papers along with it.
“Have you been thinking ahead this whole time?”
“No, just since Sunday.”
“Well, alright, I can roll this, I think. Maybe you should stop, though. We’re gonna need gas later.”
“I will. I’ll stop when we get there.” Johnny took a few more back roads as the two made their slow crawl up to the mountain, a familiar spot for East Brooke students to unwind after a long and troublesome day of surviving the stampeding rumble of the hallway. He parked in between two trees and pulled his government issued yellow BIC lighter out of his pocket.
Wendy’s hands shook as she lit the joint and slowly inhaled. The heart-pounding rush of “what now?” loosely began to fade away as both starred off past the windshield into the woods. It was all still there, still growing, it didn’t look like something that was falling apart or was even close to such. Instead, it just felt like another normal day from the past, Johnny and Wendy ultimately deciding that maybe the spark stretched past Biology homework.
“So how are you not with all the other people right now?” Johnny asked.
“What other people?”
“Didn’t you read the note? Everyone’s underground, or mostly everyone, and we’re all just waiting for the nuclear fall out to make us sick before we die.”
“I didn’t hear anything about that.”
“Well, how did you get here?”
“I came home from Hartford Saturday and then I went to Ted’s party.”
“That still doesn’t explain anything. Where’s everyone else?”
“I got too drunk and ended up passing out in the basement where all their band equipment is. On Sunday morning, I went to drive home and that’s when those two guys got me.”
“And what happened with them?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it. Needless to say, I have no idea what the fuck’s going on, and it’d be nice to be filled in by somebody I know.”
Johnny took a low breath and started to tell her all the things he knew, how he had come back from the cabin with a similar confusion and then slowly started building his basement empire. Each person began to feel slightly more comfortable as time passed slower, explanations becoming clear almost fateful reasons as to why they were where they were. After a short walk in the woods, both started to remind one another of what the purpose of it all was.
Whether it was the alone time, or the jumbled mess of suburban living rooms, both Johnny and Wendy knew that they couldn’t maintain any sort of post-apocalyptic sanity without one another. He drove back down the hill as the sun calmly set on yet another seemingly uneventful day. The world was stale, and the little meetings and greetings occurring here and there, were only for the lone gunmen who thought to remind each other to reload occasionally.
Johnny opened the garage door and turned off the car. He led Wendy down into the familiar basement. It looked considerably different, piles of wrappers and cans lining the one corner. Supplies were on the opposite; all still spaced by date and time. Some would go bad within the week while other shiny packages with optimistic cartoon cereal spokesman would withstand longer like Johnny intended to.
They set the rest of the supplies down, as Johnny loaded the four large D-cell batteries into his portable blue and gray boombox. He then browsed the collection, all of the tight plastic cases alphabetized on the shelf, a Tuesday afternoon with nothing to do but organize. Wendy sat down on the red sectional couch, grabbing a magazine from the pile Johnny had swiped from the grocery store. It seemed strange to think about how none of the useless made-up news mattered anymore.
There weren’t any headlines with photoshopped pictures of mushroom clouds. Instead, it felt as if the world just simply stopped one day, all the zombies with their eyes open finding the right path to walk down at the fork in the road. They were enjoying varying conditions as morlocks, avoiding the sunlight and waiting for the winter to be over, so they could peak their heads out and breath in untainted air.
It was April, though; the rush of new movies awaiting summer release dates, now shelved like every other part that at one time meant something. Johnny and Wendy sat and listened to The Velvet Underground and Nico, as they read words from the past, and tried not to say what they were really thinking. It was a nice way to unwind after a day of polished discovery. They poured the boxed wine into clear plastic cups from garage sales and let it all slowly sink in. It was their life now, or at least for the time being.
They could hide underground with the choice to look out at the vastness of their familiar surroundings, or run away somewhere, look for more lost lovers like them, lingering amongst used cars and abandoned libraries. There was time enough at last to do everything, and yet both quickly fell asleep next to each other that night; the supposed screams and less than moral crimes happening outside their door, only partial influences on their lazy dreams of what was coming next, what was to become of the places they thought they were used to.
“Wake up” Wendy said as she cracked an egg on the skillet, over the grill, a few more bags of charcoal sitting in the one corner, patiently waiting to be burned and eventually turned to dust like so many unsuspecting citizens. Johnny and Wendy ate breakfast and discussed eventual plans, what they needed to do, explore, discover, and possibly run away from.
That particular day proved useful as they took the long way, back roads only, up to the local shopping mall. It was a ghost town, nobody breathing behind the lifted metal gates. However, there were vague traces of life, television sets knocked over, broken glass lining the beaten path, and certain pieces missing here and there. There was barely any food, and all the normal stops along the way, the CD store and bookstore, simply seemed obsolete.
After all, the town they lived in didn’t necessarily stock up on intellectual stimulation, unless of course it was a bestseller. No longer was anything nearly as marketable. Instead, there were simply empty baskets of goods left everywhere. It was like when a family took their kids trick-or-treating and left a full bowl of candy on the front porch. The first few parent-free deviants would take it all and move on to the next plentiful offering. There weren’t any rules, and even fewer consequences to dwell on.
As Johnny and Wendy loaded up the back trunk, once again finding a lone capsule sitting in the back lot by Sears, they didn’t take time to notice the spinning sounds around them, or the eyes that were fixated on their current position. Instead, it felt like a different kind of first date, except this time there wasn’t nearly as many options. No longer were there the shallow bodies lining the hallways with drugs and available living rooms. No, it was easier for both of them to simply pick and choose each other.
“So where are we going now?” Wendy asked as Johnny drove through the parking lot.
“I don’t know. I was thinking we could…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. They swarmed fast, all their cars rumbling with a fury of a thousand deaths, running into Robert’s BMW like it had done something, directly to wrong them. The air bag flew up and then slowly sputtered as the car spun around and eventually turned off. Pieces of glass from the driver’s side window had scraped Johnny’s face, a slow trail of blood running down his forehead, blinding him temporarily. Wendy became a wide-eyed vision as she breathed heavily, both of them waiting for what was to come next. Both their doors flung open, dirty fingernails pulling their bodies out and leading them off in opposite directions. Johnny couldn’t comprehend much, although his last conscience thoughts were beyond simplistic. Why hadn’t they stayed in the basement that day? What did the mall ever have to offer?
It was a small red barn, possibly a few miles away from the mall. The only light that shined down on Johnny’s bruised face came from the lanterns placed meticulously around it. He stood up slowly, feeling the coarse rope, binding his hands behind his back. He legs were barely working as Johnny attempted to catch his balance and get a feel for where he was exactly. Wendy was nowhere in sight, and the barn lacked any company from animals. He struggled with the rope for sometime before, eventually managing to squeeze out of the mediocre knots. Johnny always had thin wrists.
He then started walking towards the barn door. Trying to mask the slow creak as it opened, Johnny moved at a pace slower than imaginable, eventually stepping out into the cold kinship of the night. He listened for voices, for any sort of recognizable sounds. Her cough, scream or yawn. Nothing. Just blank black space. Johnny saw the mansion up on the hill. There were lanterns in the windows, shadows moving back and forth. He knew she was up there, in God knows what state, trying to find a reason why it all was this way. He couldn’t run, not with his leg in the condition it was. No car, and miles from home, Johnny didn’t have much choice, and yet he had no weapons, nothing to help the tables turn.
As he limped towards the red brick house, his thoughts all turned to mush, the endorphin levels in his brain rising steadily to help remedy the pain and keep the adrenaline company. With each step came a new elongated fury that would stretch past the confines of any normal man’s life. The stress of the job, or the slow ticking irritation of every customer were small and insignificant compared to what was brewing in Johnny as he kept getting closer and closer to the rest of his life. It was like a decision that was forced on him. It wasn’t like choosing a college or getting a job in town. This was the supposed end of the road, a die-hard situation.
Johnny stopped rushing the second he saw the first of them standing by the front door, reading a Playboy magazine with a shotgun in hand. He was in his early twenties, short, with shorter blonde hair. A Cretan of modern society if any kind of societal values still existed. Johnny quickly ducked down and started a slow retreat towards the other side of the house. There was another one of them in the back. He was older, a full-grown gray beard, and more of an attention span, his arms choking up on a similar shotgun.
Johnny turned and looked off in the opposite direction. He could escape into the woods, possibly make his way back to his parents’ house and hope for a better tomorrow, and yet at that point, as all of his indifference towards the human race periodically washed over him, Johnny couldn’t help but feel as if there wasn’t any point in planning ahead. They weren’t expecting anything. They weren’t anybody of interest, just some country hicks who managed to miss the first few blasts, and yet as Johnny slowly reached into his pocket, he found the available solution.
The old man would an easier try. He didn’t have much fight left in him. It would be simpler for him to swallow. Johnny crept along the side of the house, small blue pill in hand. As the shotgun turned in his general direction, he saw it all clear as day. It was too dark for a clean shot, and everyone’s vision was slowly coming apart from the radiation. Johnny tackled the man to the ground, the gun rolling down the hill without a single shot fired. He puts his hand over the man’s mouth, and let the small pill slip down his throat, as he elbowed him in the back of the head. It worked fast, a few muffled coughs soon listlessly fading in the silence of the night. The remaining shells in the man’s pocket were soon in Johnny’s as he stepped to the other side of the house and knocked the Playboy subscriber out with the back of his gun, grabbing the remaining red scattered shells he needed from the ground.
Then it was in through the front door, an unexpected path to whatever was next. It was a large foyer, small lamps set up at random places in the other rooms, no sounds or voices filtering down any kind of hallway. The upstairs seemed obvious, and yet Johnny was beyond fearful of what he might find, what the eventual outcome would be. He took his time up the steps, waiting patiently for any untimely sign of life.
There weren’t any whispers, just dimly lit blackness. He checked each room individually, searching for what he had lost once again, what was taken away and hadn’t left a single trace. Johnny thought it strange that the house was empty, the two men outside seeming like guards for a treasure they knew nothing about. As he walked back down the steps, he could vaguely see the outline of the younger one standing up outside, the glass window in the door providing Johnny with all the picture he needed.
The shot went through the wooden door, knocking the man down to the ground. He began to moan in-between muffled bloody coughs. Johnny quickly reloaded and waited by the door. What could have been a minute or ten, Johnny stood waiting and listening to the man outside slowly pass. The footsteps were fast as they approached; they sounded soft on the ground. He heard the voice through the hole in the door.
“Peter? Peter, are you…?” Johnny opened the door, pointing the shotgun at the frightened boy on his knees. He wasn’t much older than thirteen, blonde hair and a face covered in dirt from whatever the previous week had to offer. The boy’s hand slowly reached for Peter’s lonesome shotgun. A slow motion that didn’t go much further than that.
“Stop. Don’t move.”
“I… I was…”
“I don’t care. Where’s my girlfriend?”
“She’s in the other barn with Keith.”
“Don’t follow me.” Johnny said as he grabbed the shotgun from the ground and slowly walked off in another unfamiliar direction.
As the boy sat down on the ground next to his dead brother, he heard the eventual shots from the barn, the loud rumble of somebody deciding on what the best possible discourse was. He heard the car engine sputtering, before it eventually drove off, down the road, and yet the thought hadn’t occurred to him that he was completely alone in the world. In fact, it took days for it to sink in. Afterwards it would just seem like something that didn’t happen. The shear loneliness would make even the most vivid of memories slowly fade with the daylight. It would become easier to stay in one place, avoiding all the grounded noises taking off in the distance.
The End
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
LACI
My friend wants a painting of paul newman because it looks like his dad... this is what i have so far. this is only the second one i've done that is supposed to actually look like someone.
i know i'm not great at it...i have to fix the one eye and once i paint it i was wondering if you had any advice on the jacket. doing it exact, with the hounds tooth i think its called, will drive me crazy, but i was thinking maybe it could be alright if i just drew the criss cross pattern? i thought if someone could give me advice it would be you.
thanks for anything you could help me with.
i know i'm not great at it...i have to fix the one eye and once i paint it i was wondering if you had any advice on the jacket. doing it exact, with the hounds tooth i think its called, will drive me crazy, but i was thinking maybe it could be alright if i just drew the criss cross pattern? i thought if someone could give me advice it would be you.
thanks for anything you could help me with.
From a far enough distance everyone looks like they're walking together. I continually wait for perfect moments. I'm walking in one direction and the other piece of the puzzle is walking the other way. We both stop, out of habit and courtesy, trying to mask our smiles for such a coincidence. We take our headphones off and switch. Her soundtrack and my soundtrack are complimentary colors. Then the rest of the mess begins.
Stoney Bones
1. It is impossible to comprehend or even imagine the totality of Nothing. Nothing is the absense of all things, of all matter and all ideas. Time would be meaningless... There would be no meaning! There would be nothing to measure, no qualities whatsoever. Nothing would not be all black or all white, for that gives it quality and Nothing has no quality!
It IS impossible!
2. All things exist at this present moment. There will be no more, no less. There was no more, no less. The same ammount has always and will always exist. Sure, there are different forms, but always the same ammount. All is constantly changing, from one to the other, but it is still the same. Which is to say, as cliche as it sounds, I am my mother and I am my father, my brother, my grandparents and so on and so forth. I know I am my father, for my sight comes from him. I see as he does. We are all parts of the sum. We are seeds and plants and animals and families and friends and so on and so forth. All things are connected because we are all things.
3. In Nothing we are, just you just I. Before the Nothing you marveled at my youth, but time and distance has no meaning here. There is nothing to measure and the only difference is that you are one and I am another. All (you and I) is equal.
---------------------------------------------
1. This is why The Neverending Story is horrifying to me, and also why some people are afraid of death. The unknown is frightening.
2. Stoned neo-hippie obsessed with Cell biology.
3. Attempt at being poetic. Ha!
It IS impossible!
2. All things exist at this present moment. There will be no more, no less. There was no more, no less. The same ammount has always and will always exist. Sure, there are different forms, but always the same ammount. All is constantly changing, from one to the other, but it is still the same. Which is to say, as cliche as it sounds, I am my mother and I am my father, my brother, my grandparents and so on and so forth. I know I am my father, for my sight comes from him. I see as he does. We are all parts of the sum. We are seeds and plants and animals and families and friends and so on and so forth. All things are connected because we are all things.
3. In Nothing we are, just you just I. Before the Nothing you marveled at my youth, but time and distance has no meaning here. There is nothing to measure and the only difference is that you are one and I am another. All (you and I) is equal.
---------------------------------------------
1. This is why The Neverending Story is horrifying to me, and also why some people are afraid of death. The unknown is frightening.
2. Stoned neo-hippie obsessed with Cell biology.
3. Attempt at being poetic. Ha!
Monday, January 28, 2008
This is a Mission Statement
This is a Mission Statement
So first off, it’s just weird that we all know each other, and I know it’s kind of a paradox to say that anyone really knows anybody else because all our interior monologues all our troublesome thoughts of tomorrow are uniquely different. But we do know everybody. We know them as people we don’t know, people who pass us by or stand four feet away from us, three persons over. We know them as the people who are better at faking it, or pretending like they have it all figured out. We all know everybody else in the sense of who they know, who they’ve thought they were in love with, fucked, hung out with, got shitty with, and picked up the pieces afterwards.
We all know everybody in the sense of who they dislike or are at least going along with the trend of disliking. We know them as signatures, as words without faces, as faces without names, as cliché boundaries and disgruntled looks from nearby distances. We know them as friends and lovers or possibly in the hypothetical senses of the words. We know them as loud and boisterous one moment and as a slow receding chalk line the next. We avoid people, we write them out of our lives, we walk past them with our heads down and we talk about them like they’re next to us, or most of the time because we know they’re not occupying the space around us. Yet despite all this knowing and the sense of knowing, we’re all something. We’re bound together by some mutual understanding of where this gigantic bubble is spinning, and in that way, we’re all sort of stuck to it.
Lately I’ve been thinking about all the things I know we aren’t. We’re not necessarily cool, despite the fact that we all think we are. In fact, if anything, it’s better if we all commonly accept the notion that we’re not cool, and hopefully from that point, move on. If this doesn’t necessarily appeal to everybody, then I can at least say that I accept the fact that I’m uncool and don’t see myself changing in any way. Instead, I’d rather be like this. I sort of prefer it, and besides the fact that I’m not, doesn’t mean that I don’t know what is cool. This is cool. Us as something more than us, is cool, even if it doesn’t always necessarily stretch past the confines of what’s familiar to us, which in a sense, is what matters more than anything else. We need to be familiar with each other, and we need to all recognize when something is new, and I guess either choose to accept it, or possibly walk past it, if necessary.
What we think is cool does shape us, though, and for the most part in a good way. I draw inspiration from everything that I like, whether it be music, movies, TV, literature, all the little pieces, words left unsaid, looks from across the room, subtle notions and inclinations to inside jokes or times spent driving around in the wrong direction lost, looking with glazed eyes for that one tiny secluded place where everything else is supposedly happening. I live for all of these things, and in a way I know that I am slightly derivative of them. I shape everything I do, attempt to create, whatever, around all the things listed above, which is good. That’s the way it needs to be. People just need to commonly accept all their opinions, all their favorites; all the things that keep them going, and not let anybody else rupture such things.
I know it’s hard sometimes, though. People don’t care or at least don’t seem to care about any and all things as much as they care about their own things, and such is true, and nobody can change that. Yet, we have a chance to maybe just slowly realize that all of this is what matters. This is what makes our structured little worlds tick, and although there may be violent turns towards other inclinations, other answers, other possibilities happening here and there, we still need to realize that this is something somewhat bigger than all of us, and at the same time, still all ours as individuals. We need to do whatever it is we do for ourselves and no one else, whether it’s to simply vent or possibly relay a message that everyone else should hear over and over again.
I guess I might just be rambling here, but all of these thoughts have been bouncing around in my head for the last week or so, and I really needed to get them out, and of course, here of all places, because right here is where it seems to matter. I’ve been looking at other people a lot lately, whether I pass them by or have to listen to their slightly hazardous presentations of themselves, and each time something of the sort happens, I find myself judging them, but not in a bad sense of the word. It’s different then that. I just think about all of the shit that they readily subscribe to, all the stuff they don’t know about and even if they do gradually find out about it, they don’t seem to get it, or care that much.
The majority of people I pass by aren’t B-side people. They only really listen to that one hit, and that’s okay. That’s how people are, but I feel like this explains all of us better than anything else. What we consume and what we think is cool, whether it be outside or from the inside makes us somewhat more so alive than all the others, and I guess what I’m trying to say, what I’m beating around the bush about is, that I’m glad this is happening, and we all should, and I can’t see myself ever really turning away from it, even if other parts do come my way.
Lastly, I will say that I’m not completely against the concept of selling out just so long as it’s for the right reasons. My reasons would be to get rich enough to indulge in enough drugs and semi-intellectual women to eventually get sick of it all, and become a recluse on some distant hillside. I’d still be social with all the people I know, or at least think I know, but I guess I would really turn an ear to the majority of the new faces. It just seems as if it’s harder for them to catch on.
So first off, it’s just weird that we all know each other, and I know it’s kind of a paradox to say that anyone really knows anybody else because all our interior monologues all our troublesome thoughts of tomorrow are uniquely different. But we do know everybody. We know them as people we don’t know, people who pass us by or stand four feet away from us, three persons over. We know them as the people who are better at faking it, or pretending like they have it all figured out. We all know everybody else in the sense of who they know, who they’ve thought they were in love with, fucked, hung out with, got shitty with, and picked up the pieces afterwards.
We all know everybody in the sense of who they dislike or are at least going along with the trend of disliking. We know them as signatures, as words without faces, as faces without names, as cliché boundaries and disgruntled looks from nearby distances. We know them as friends and lovers or possibly in the hypothetical senses of the words. We know them as loud and boisterous one moment and as a slow receding chalk line the next. We avoid people, we write them out of our lives, we walk past them with our heads down and we talk about them like they’re next to us, or most of the time because we know they’re not occupying the space around us. Yet despite all this knowing and the sense of knowing, we’re all something. We’re bound together by some mutual understanding of where this gigantic bubble is spinning, and in that way, we’re all sort of stuck to it.
Lately I’ve been thinking about all the things I know we aren’t. We’re not necessarily cool, despite the fact that we all think we are. In fact, if anything, it’s better if we all commonly accept the notion that we’re not cool, and hopefully from that point, move on. If this doesn’t necessarily appeal to everybody, then I can at least say that I accept the fact that I’m uncool and don’t see myself changing in any way. Instead, I’d rather be like this. I sort of prefer it, and besides the fact that I’m not, doesn’t mean that I don’t know what is cool. This is cool. Us as something more than us, is cool, even if it doesn’t always necessarily stretch past the confines of what’s familiar to us, which in a sense, is what matters more than anything else. We need to be familiar with each other, and we need to all recognize when something is new, and I guess either choose to accept it, or possibly walk past it, if necessary.
What we think is cool does shape us, though, and for the most part in a good way. I draw inspiration from everything that I like, whether it be music, movies, TV, literature, all the little pieces, words left unsaid, looks from across the room, subtle notions and inclinations to inside jokes or times spent driving around in the wrong direction lost, looking with glazed eyes for that one tiny secluded place where everything else is supposedly happening. I live for all of these things, and in a way I know that I am slightly derivative of them. I shape everything I do, attempt to create, whatever, around all the things listed above, which is good. That’s the way it needs to be. People just need to commonly accept all their opinions, all their favorites; all the things that keep them going, and not let anybody else rupture such things.
I know it’s hard sometimes, though. People don’t care or at least don’t seem to care about any and all things as much as they care about their own things, and such is true, and nobody can change that. Yet, we have a chance to maybe just slowly realize that all of this is what matters. This is what makes our structured little worlds tick, and although there may be violent turns towards other inclinations, other answers, other possibilities happening here and there, we still need to realize that this is something somewhat bigger than all of us, and at the same time, still all ours as individuals. We need to do whatever it is we do for ourselves and no one else, whether it’s to simply vent or possibly relay a message that everyone else should hear over and over again.
I guess I might just be rambling here, but all of these thoughts have been bouncing around in my head for the last week or so, and I really needed to get them out, and of course, here of all places, because right here is where it seems to matter. I’ve been looking at other people a lot lately, whether I pass them by or have to listen to their slightly hazardous presentations of themselves, and each time something of the sort happens, I find myself judging them, but not in a bad sense of the word. It’s different then that. I just think about all of the shit that they readily subscribe to, all the stuff they don’t know about and even if they do gradually find out about it, they don’t seem to get it, or care that much.
The majority of people I pass by aren’t B-side people. They only really listen to that one hit, and that’s okay. That’s how people are, but I feel like this explains all of us better than anything else. What we consume and what we think is cool, whether it be outside or from the inside makes us somewhat more so alive than all the others, and I guess what I’m trying to say, what I’m beating around the bush about is, that I’m glad this is happening, and we all should, and I can’t see myself ever really turning away from it, even if other parts do come my way.
Lastly, I will say that I’m not completely against the concept of selling out just so long as it’s for the right reasons. My reasons would be to get rich enough to indulge in enough drugs and semi-intellectual women to eventually get sick of it all, and become a recluse on some distant hillside. I’d still be social with all the people I know, or at least think I know, but I guess I would really turn an ear to the majority of the new faces. It just seems as if it’s harder for them to catch on.
How the Internet has Debased Self-Portrait: A Curated Dissertation Considering the Impact of Digital Aesthetics and Media on the Art Historical Canon
"[It] could be a very punk rock thing. Sure, a lot of people are trying to be something that they aren't. But think of all the paper waste that we could avoid by using the internet as an alternative to flyers, perzines, and print photography. I'll wade through thousands of tritely constructed compositions and boring layouts to find one interesting work, one moving image."
Testimonial 881i
Testimonial 881i
Only Sometimes: Last 25 Minutes
INT. MAGGIE’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brady and Kyle sit on the couch, both flipping through art books, while Phyllis lies on the floor, starring up at the ceiling and Maggie flips through record covers. The mushrooms have subtly kicked in.
BRADY
Man, it’s like they always know what they’re doing. It just turns into something that they can’t control. I mean, every fucking painting has different connotations to it. Some artists just painted to get laid. I mean, that was it, just naked chicks, for the soul purpose of getting laid, and then in fucking “Titanic” they try to make their artist hero the same way. What a bunch of bullshit? Why did I see that movie twice in theaters?
KYLE
Because we were young and wanted to see boobs.
BRADY
Oh yeah, that’s it. Why didn’t we want to become artists after that?
KYLE
I don’t know.
MAGGIE
I saw that movie five times in theaters.
KYLE
That’s fifteen hours of your life down the drain Maggie.
PHYLLIS
I saw it seven times.
KYLE
Fucking sick. How did we consume shit like that as if it was Lucky Charms for breakfast or something?
BRADY
Yeah, why didn’t they do a cross-promotional campaign with cereals. They would’ve made tons of money with little miniature Jack and Rose McDonald’s toys.
MAGGIE
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now. Were you two this fucking retarded in high school?
BRADY
No, I sort of had to grow into it Maggie, like you did with your implants.
Maggie stands up in the middle of the living room.
MAGGIE
These aren’t implants. They just sort of got bigger my freshman year here.
KYLE
Just like that, huh?
MAGGIE
Yeah, just like that.
BRADY
So your freshman fifteen went straight to your boobs? Why hasn’t there been a lifetime movie about that yet?
MAGGIE
I don’t know. I mean, I would watch it on a Sunday, and that means it’s pretty sad.
KYLE
Definitely.
PHYLLIS
So is the ceiling supposed to be sending me hidden messages?
Brady, Kyle and Maggie all start to laugh.
PHYLLIS
I’m serious here, guys.
MAGGIE
Yeah, yeah, we know.
BRADY
So have you guys ever stopped to think about how great it would be to go back to high school, but with everything you know now.
KYLE
Fuck high school man. I’d go back to Kindergarten, write some incredible short story in crayon and get huge.
BRADY
Yeah, see, I wouldn’t blow my cover like that. I’d just keep it cool, start picking out which girls to seduce in sixth grade and so on.
MAGGIE
Well that’s sort of fucked up Brady.
BRADY
I know, my thoughts are wandering mindlessly.
KYLE
I would have done a lot more drugs when I was younger.
BRADY
What, like trip in school?
KYLE
Yeah right, I’d shit myself.
MAGGIE
Ditto.
KYLE
Maybe before I saw Episode 1, though.
BRADY
Well that works. It would’ve been better probably then.
MAGGIE
We need to get out of this house. I mean, I’m not sure how much more Star Wars conversation I can handle.
BRADY
We haven’t even gotten rolling yet.
MAGGIE
Oh shit man. I just remembered, fucking rave party over at Ajay’s.
PHYLLIS
I don’t wanna go there. I don’t wanna leave this spot, at least not until it all stops moving around me.
KYLE
I’m up for the rave party.
BRADY
Yeah, me too.
PHYLLIS
(Sitting up)
Well you guys can’t leave me here.
BRADY
Phyllis, this is like we’re in the woods and the group’s deciding to move on. It’s just how society works.
PHYLLIS
Fuck…
BRADY
Exactly.
“Bros” continues into the next scene.
EXT. COLLEGE SIDEWALK – NIGHT
Brady, Kyle, Maggie and Phyllis all walk down the sidewalk, tripping face.
BRADY
Ya know, I think I’d be more freaked out if I knew where we were going.
KYLE
I know, me too. It’s kind of nice exploring like this, though. I feel like I’m in a fucking video game or something.
MAGGIE
Jesus, you guys need to get out more.
BRADY
Yeah, tell me about it.
PHYLLIS
This may be the worst walk I’ve ever taken in my entire life. Are all the things that are happening supposed to be happening right now?
BRADY
I’m not sure what that questions means at this very instant Phyllis.
MAGGIE
It’s better just to, ya know, not ask about anything at all.
PHYLLIS
Right, well I think that’s gonna be sort of difficult Maggie.
KYLE
Not when we get to the party. I mean, we won’t be able to hear ya then anyway.
PHYLLIS
Yeah, which is yet another reason why I don’t wanna be walking there right now.
BRADY
I can’t take this negative vibe right now. It’s like starting to consume me.
PHYLLIS
Well fucking deal with it Brady.
BRADY
See what I’m talking about.
KYLE
It’ll be fine once we get there.
MAGGIE
Exactly.
BRADY
I feel as if people have been telling me that things are going to be fine for my entire life.
KYLE
Well that’s because they have been Brady.
BRADY
I know.
“Bros” keeps playing.
INT. AJAY’S HOUSE – BASEMENT – NIGHT
Brady, Kyle, Maggie and Phyllis all stand dancing, clumped into a basement with a bunch of random people. Strobe lights go off in the background along with everybody having glow sticks.
A few seconds pass before Phyllis just wigs out and runs off out of the basement. Brady looks over at Kyle and Maggie, only to find them making-out. He sighs and walks off out of the basement.
EXT. AJAY’S BACKYARD – SIDE OF THE HOUSE – NIGHT
Brady walks over on the side of the house to find Phyllis sitting on the ground with her head on her knees.
BRADY
Jesus, you alright?
PHYLLIS
I’m fine. I just needed to breathe.
BRADY
You look like you freaked out back there.
PHYLLIS
Isn’t that normal Brady?
Phyllis stands up from the ground.
BRADY
No, I don’t think it is.
PHYLLIS
Well maybe not for you or Kyle or Maggie. I mean, you guys think all of this is normal behavior. You think this is what people do in college.
BRADY
This is what people do in college, or in life really. I mean, eventually you get to the point where you’re just so fucking bored, and you’re just so fucking numb to everything, that you just decide that this is the only way to handle this big elaborate bubble.
PHYLLIS
Are you always this poetic?
BRADY
Only sometimes.
PHYLLIS
Well, alright.
BRADY
It’ll all wear off eventually, ya know?
PHYLLIS
What, this feeling of complete hysteria?
BRADY
No, just the drugs.
PHYLLIS
Oh, well I guess that’s too bad.
BRADY
Yes it is.
PHYLLIS
So did Maggie and Kyle send you out here to handle this?
BRADY
No, they were making-out. So I just decided to fall on the grenade without discussing anything with anybody first.
PHYLLIS
You think I’m lame, don’t you?
BRADY
Well yeah, but I’m uncool so it balances out.
PHYLLIS
I guess so.
Brady and Phyllis are quiet for moment, before she leans in and kisses him. Brady and Phyllis start to make out for a few seconds, only to have Phyllis quickly stop and run off through the yard as a three cop cars park on the street in front of the house with their lights on.
BRADY
What the fuck…?
Brady looks over at the cars and then quickly dashes off in another direction of the backyard.
EXT. RANDOM BACKYARDS OF COLLEGE TOWN – NIGHT
Brady hops through various backyards as he can hear the sounds of other potentially fucked-up party people exiting the house.
EXT. COLLEGE SIDEWALK – NIGHT
Brady runs out onto the sidewalk and starts to catch his breath. A few seconds pass before he sees a cop car drive by on another street. Brady starts to walk at a moderate pace down the street.
EXT. COLLEGE BEER DISTRIBUTOR – NIGHT
Hannah Craig walks out of a beer distributor carrying a twelve pack. She slowly walks towards the sidewalk. Brady rushes past, speed walking. Hannah takes a second look and then steps onto the sidewalk.
HANNAH
Brady?
Brady stops and turns back to Hannah. He takes a breath and walks over in front of her.
BRADY
Hey, Hannah Craig, what a surprise.
HANNAH
Yeah really. It’s been like four years.
BRADY
Sure has.
HANNAH
So what are you doing here?
BRADY
Oh uh, ya know, just going for a walk.
HANNAH
Do you live here, in town, I mean?
BRADY
No, uh, I’m visiting. Kyle wanted to hang out with Maggie Horan, she goes here, and so we drove up.
HANNAH
Oh, well where are those guys?
BRADY
Either making-out or in a cop car. Possibly both.
HANNAH
I’m having trouble following here.
BRADY
It’s not really a big deal. We were at a party. Cops busted it, I think.
HANNAH
Was it Ajay’s rave?
BRADY
Yeah, how’d you know?
HANNAH
That’s where I was headed.
BRADY
Oh well, you may not want to now.
HANNAH
Yeah, I guess not.
(Beat)
But uh, what are you doing?
BRADY
Me, I uh… I don’t know. I guess I was just trying to walk around in circles and look for Maggie’s apartment.
HANNAH
Well, I don’t know where she lives.
BRADY
I figured.
HANNAH
But if you want, you can help me drink this beer.
BRADY
Where at?
HANNAH
I guess my apartment.
BRADY
You’re inviting me over, just like that, huh?
HANNAH
Yeah, I mean, somehow I have a feeling you’re still pretty harmless, right?
BRADY
Yeah, even more so now. I think I’ve officially lost my edge.
HANNAH
Well that’s kind of a drag Brady.
BRADY
Yeah, I know.
HANNAH
So are you up for hanging out?
BRADY
Yeah, sure. Uh… I can carry that beer too.
HANNAH
Cool. Knock yourself out.
Hannah hands Brady the case of beer as both of them start to walk down the sidewalk. “Bros” fades into “Pink Bullets” by The Shins.
INT. HANNAH’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brady sits on the couch next to Hannah, sipping a beer and flipping through a magazine.
BRADY
So you’re apartment’s pretty big for just one person.
HANNAH
Well Ross just moved in with his friend Greg.
BRADY
You used to live with Ross?
HANNAH
Yeah, I used to date Ross too.
BRADY
Yeah, I know, but I figured that would’ve ended by the time college spun around.
HANNAH
It did end, a bunch of times actually. I don’t know. We were like a bad habit for each other.
BRADY
Yeah, I know what you mean.
HANNAH
So you didn’t say you had a girlfriend or whatever, did you?
BRADY
Uh no, I didn’t. I have girls. They’re just not girlfriends.
HANNAH
Why’s that?
BRADY
I don’t know. I suppose because I’m sort of unstable at this point in my life.
HANNAH
Who isn’t unstable?
BRADY
Very true.
Brady sets the magazine down on the table.
BRADY
So, I grew out of the crush I had on you in high school about a year or so ago.
HANNAH
Well that’s good. Wouldn’t wanna just bring that up at random and look like an idiot, now would I?
BRADY
Probably not, no.
HANNAH
Ya know, I knew you did. I just… Well I suppose I was sort of a bitch in high school. I didn’t really care about anything, ya know?
BRADY
Yeah, well do you care about much of anything now?
HANNAH
Not really. I don’t know. I guess it’s give and take.
BRADY
Yeah, I suppose.
HANNAH
I don’t think we would’ve really worked out back then, or now for that matter really.
BRADY
Why do you say that?
HANNAH
I don’t know. I just think I’m past the point where I can date somebody I already know. I need to venture out, meet new people.
BRADY
You don’t know me that well. I mean, cliché as it sounds, people change in four years and besides who said I wanted to date you? I just need a place to pass the time, wait for this eventual trip to stop.
HANNAH
You ate mushrooms tonight?
BRADY
Yeah, I did.
HANNAH
Why?
BRADY
I don’t know. I guess I needed to remind myself that I’m not just running on fumes.
HANNAH
What does that even mean?
BRADY
Just ya know, the fucking routine, the whole getting used to it thing. If you hang out with the same people all the time, doing the exact same thing or at least a variation of the same thing, eventually it’ll get to you, but tonight’s different. I mean, I came here with no real expectations, and we ran into each other, and now I’m here sort of venting on the whole fact that I think I may be a completely different person now.
HANNAH
Well okay. Ya know, I’m sorry I brought it up. I mean, actually you brought it up, so what’s the deal there Brady?
BRADY
I guess I was just making conversation.
HANNAH
Right… Okay, well let’s talk about something else.
BRADY
Yeah, okay… Um… Actually, what’s wrong with the people you know? I mean, I guess sometimes you probably hate them, but all and all you can’t really escape, ya know?
HANNAH
Yeah, I know. That’s the really depressing part about it Brady.
BRADY
I guess so.
HANNAH
That party tonight, though. That was like my release from captivity. I was planning on meeting new people, reinventing myself, whatever the fuck you wanna call it.
BRADY
You would’ve just ended up running into me anyway.
HANNAH
Yeah, but it would’ve been easier to ignore you in the thick of it all.
BRADY
Yeah, I guess that’s true.
HANNAH
I’m just kidding.
BRADY
Oh, alright.
HANNAH
So are you okay? You don’t really seem like you used to.
BRADY
How did I used to seem Hannah?
HANNAH
I don’t know. Optimistic.
BRADY
I think optimism fades with time.
HANNAH
So I’m slowly learning.
Brady and Hannah both take sips of their beers in unison and then breathe.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. HANNAH’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – LATE NIGHT
Brady wakes up in the middle of the night in Hannah’s bed, without any of his clothes on. Hannah is nowhere in sight as Brady; half-asleep walks out of the room.
INT. HANNAH’S APARTMENT – BATHROOM – NIGHT
Brady walks over to the closed bathroom door and knocks on it.
BRADY
Hannah? You in there?
After no answer, Brady opens the door to find Hannah, passed out on the floor, a bunch of random pill containers spread out by the kitchen sink.
BRADY
Oh fuck…
Brady rushes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him as “Off the Rails” by The Notwist plays through the next few scenes.
INT. AMBULANCE – LATE NIGHT
Brady sits in the front of the ambulance, hearing sounds of the paramedics working on Hannah in the back.
INT. LOCAL HOSPITAL – WAITING ROOM – MORNING
Brady sits in the hospital waiting room, looking more than a little exhausted. A few seconds pass before ROSS SNYDER walks into the waiting room and over in front of him. Ross is 22 and the typical perfect boyfriend despite all the previous complications.
ROSS
Where is she?
BRADY
Room 202.
ROSS
Thanks Brady.
BRADY
Yeah, sure thing Ross.
Ross rushes out of the waiting room as Brady takes a breath, stands up and walks out of the waiting room.
EXT. LOCAL HOSPITAL – PARKING LOT – DAWN
The sun is just coming up as Brady walks through the parking lot with his phone to his ear. After a few seconds, Kyle picks up on the other line, sounding like shit.
KYLE (V.O.)
Hello?
BRADY
You still alive?
KYLE (V.O.)
Just barely. Where are you?
BRADY
The hospital.
KYLE (V.O.)
You freak out or something?
BRADY
I wish my life was that simple.
KYLE (V.O.)
I guess we all do.
BRADY
Anyway, I think I wanna drive back, go to Candace’s party tonight.
KYLE (V.O.)
Well alright, that’s fine. Do you need me to pick you up?
BRADY
Yeah, I think so. I have no idea where I am.
KYLE (V.O.)
Alright, give me about twenty minutes.
BRADY
Sounds good.
Brady closes his phone as “Off the Rails” keeps playing.
INT. KYLE’S CAR – DAY
Kyle drives down the highway with Brady sitting up front.
KYLE
So then we both kind of freaked out, went our separate ways and I ended up sleeping in Ajay’s basement.
BRADY
I could’ve sworn that party got busted.
KYLE
You must’ve been seeing shit.
BRADY
Phyllis ran off before I did.
KYLE
Well she was beyond far-gone anyway.
BRADY
I guess that’s true.
KYLE
But whatever, I’m sure she made it back okay. What the fuck happened to you, or are we not discussing the fact that I just picked you up at the hospital?
BRADY
It would just sound made up if I told you the truth.
KYLE
So this is gonna be one of those things we don’t mention again?
BRADY
Yeah, I think so. Just like all those other weekends.
KYLE
Well, okay.
(Beat)
So do we wanna get more stuff for tonight?
BRADY
Don’t think so. I mean, if you want to, then go ahead. I think life would probably easier the other way.
KYLE
So you’re not gonna take anything?
BRADY
No, I’ll develop the slow stoney-beer buzz, but no psychedelics tonight.
KYLE
Alright, that works. Of course, are you sure about this party? I mean, it’s just gonna make you extremely depressed or whatever.
BRADY
Yeah, I know. I think I’m okay with that now, though.
KYLE
Well, cool.
(Beat)
So this was fucking long ass drive and neither one of us got laid.
BRADY
Yeah, it’s a real bummer, huh?
KYLE
Definitely.
Kyle keeps driving.
INT. CANDACE’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brady, Kyle and Gracie stand in the one corner with beers. Candace stands on the other side of the room, alone, a mess of partygoers between them. “The Source” by Built to Spill plays in the background.
GRACIE
So I didn’t think we’d end up here tonight.
BRADY
Yeah, well it could be worse, I guess.
GRACIE
Yeah, I mean, at least we’re not alone.
KYLE
What do you guys think Zack’s excuse is gonna be?
BRADY
It doesn’t matter.
KYLE
Yeah, you’re right.
GRACIE
Well are you gonna go talk to her?
BRADY
What’s the point? We’re all fucked anyway, remember?
Brady walks out of the living room, downing the rest of his beer.
EXT. CANDACE’S FRONT PORCH – NIGHT
Brady walks out onto the front porch, a few scattered smokers around. A few seconds pass before Candace walks out next to him and lights a cigarette for herself.
CANDACE
Why do you always hang out with smokers if you don’t smoke?
BRADY
I don’t know. I guess I like to be that guy just a little closer to death.
CANDACE
Right…
BRADY
So how’s twenty feel?
CANDACE
Worse than nineteen.
BRADY
Well you’ll get that from time to time.
CANDACE
Yeah, I know. I mean, that’s what everyone told me.
BRADY
Well, me too.
CANDACE
So, I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?
BRADY
What do you mean?
CANDACE
I mean, I make bad decisions.
BRADY
What’s your point?
CANDACE
Zack’s a bad decision.
BRADY
Oh well yeah, no duh.
CANDACE
You don’t really care much anymore, do you?
BRADY
No, I don’t think so. I mean, truth be told I thought it’d be like before, ya know, where I tried to talk myself out of being in love with you, but I never could.
CANDACE
And now it’s just easier, right?
BRADY
Yeah, I think so. I mean, when push comes to shove, we all kind of wanna kill ourselves. It’s just really fucking dumb to do it over a girl. I mean, what kind of a fucking cliché, am I?
CANDACE
The kind that at least showed up to my party.
BRADY
Oh, well there’s an explanation for that.
CANDACE
What is it?
BRADY
Another night of tripping on mushrooms, exploring some uncharted territory, sleeping with my high school crush, and then having to go with her in the ambulance before she gets her stomach pumped, just really didn’t appeal to me. It’s nicer here, ya know? With people who are as reliably dull as you are Candace.
CANDACE
Well thanks for that Brady.
BRADY
Sure thing.
Brady grabs the cigarette out of Candace’s mouth and throws it into the yard.
BRADY
What the fuck…?
CANDACE
You’ll kill yourself smoking those things.
Brady walks back into the house, leaving Candace to her thoughts. “Closing Time” by Semisonic plays through the next sequence.
INT. CANDACE’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brady walks through the living room with a beer in his hand. Kyle and Gracie bullshit as normal as Brady takes his place next to them.
REVERSE ANGLE as Brady sees Bianca walk into the house, carrying a six pack of beer. Surprises, Brady walks over right in front of her.
BRADY
I don’t get it.
BIANCA
I got your message. I figured it’d work better as a surprise.
BRADY
I didn’t tell you where the party was.
BIANCA
I know, your facebook did.
BRADY
You’re a pretty big fucking stalker, ya know that?
BIANCA
Yeah, I know. Yet another problem we didn’t discuss nearly enough in group.
BRADY
So what does this mean exactly?
BIANCA
It means the inevitable pull of boredom has hit hard yet again.
BRADY
Well I think I can live with that.
BIANCA
Cool. Let’s get fucked up.
BRADY
(Holding up his beer)
Four steps ahead of you.
Bianca takes a beer out of the six pack and walks into the living room. Brady follows closely behind as “Closing Time” kicks in.
FADE OUT
THE END
Brady and Kyle sit on the couch, both flipping through art books, while Phyllis lies on the floor, starring up at the ceiling and Maggie flips through record covers. The mushrooms have subtly kicked in.
BRADY
Man, it’s like they always know what they’re doing. It just turns into something that they can’t control. I mean, every fucking painting has different connotations to it. Some artists just painted to get laid. I mean, that was it, just naked chicks, for the soul purpose of getting laid, and then in fucking “Titanic” they try to make their artist hero the same way. What a bunch of bullshit? Why did I see that movie twice in theaters?
KYLE
Because we were young and wanted to see boobs.
BRADY
Oh yeah, that’s it. Why didn’t we want to become artists after that?
KYLE
I don’t know.
MAGGIE
I saw that movie five times in theaters.
KYLE
That’s fifteen hours of your life down the drain Maggie.
PHYLLIS
I saw it seven times.
KYLE
Fucking sick. How did we consume shit like that as if it was Lucky Charms for breakfast or something?
BRADY
Yeah, why didn’t they do a cross-promotional campaign with cereals. They would’ve made tons of money with little miniature Jack and Rose McDonald’s toys.
MAGGIE
I can’t believe we’re having this conversation right now. Were you two this fucking retarded in high school?
BRADY
No, I sort of had to grow into it Maggie, like you did with your implants.
Maggie stands up in the middle of the living room.
MAGGIE
These aren’t implants. They just sort of got bigger my freshman year here.
KYLE
Just like that, huh?
MAGGIE
Yeah, just like that.
BRADY
So your freshman fifteen went straight to your boobs? Why hasn’t there been a lifetime movie about that yet?
MAGGIE
I don’t know. I mean, I would watch it on a Sunday, and that means it’s pretty sad.
KYLE
Definitely.
PHYLLIS
So is the ceiling supposed to be sending me hidden messages?
Brady, Kyle and Maggie all start to laugh.
PHYLLIS
I’m serious here, guys.
MAGGIE
Yeah, yeah, we know.
BRADY
So have you guys ever stopped to think about how great it would be to go back to high school, but with everything you know now.
KYLE
Fuck high school man. I’d go back to Kindergarten, write some incredible short story in crayon and get huge.
BRADY
Yeah, see, I wouldn’t blow my cover like that. I’d just keep it cool, start picking out which girls to seduce in sixth grade and so on.
MAGGIE
Well that’s sort of fucked up Brady.
BRADY
I know, my thoughts are wandering mindlessly.
KYLE
I would have done a lot more drugs when I was younger.
BRADY
What, like trip in school?
KYLE
Yeah right, I’d shit myself.
MAGGIE
Ditto.
KYLE
Maybe before I saw Episode 1, though.
BRADY
Well that works. It would’ve been better probably then.
MAGGIE
We need to get out of this house. I mean, I’m not sure how much more Star Wars conversation I can handle.
BRADY
We haven’t even gotten rolling yet.
MAGGIE
Oh shit man. I just remembered, fucking rave party over at Ajay’s.
PHYLLIS
I don’t wanna go there. I don’t wanna leave this spot, at least not until it all stops moving around me.
KYLE
I’m up for the rave party.
BRADY
Yeah, me too.
PHYLLIS
(Sitting up)
Well you guys can’t leave me here.
BRADY
Phyllis, this is like we’re in the woods and the group’s deciding to move on. It’s just how society works.
PHYLLIS
Fuck…
BRADY
Exactly.
“Bros” continues into the next scene.
EXT. COLLEGE SIDEWALK – NIGHT
Brady, Kyle, Maggie and Phyllis all walk down the sidewalk, tripping face.
BRADY
Ya know, I think I’d be more freaked out if I knew where we were going.
KYLE
I know, me too. It’s kind of nice exploring like this, though. I feel like I’m in a fucking video game or something.
MAGGIE
Jesus, you guys need to get out more.
BRADY
Yeah, tell me about it.
PHYLLIS
This may be the worst walk I’ve ever taken in my entire life. Are all the things that are happening supposed to be happening right now?
BRADY
I’m not sure what that questions means at this very instant Phyllis.
MAGGIE
It’s better just to, ya know, not ask about anything at all.
PHYLLIS
Right, well I think that’s gonna be sort of difficult Maggie.
KYLE
Not when we get to the party. I mean, we won’t be able to hear ya then anyway.
PHYLLIS
Yeah, which is yet another reason why I don’t wanna be walking there right now.
BRADY
I can’t take this negative vibe right now. It’s like starting to consume me.
PHYLLIS
Well fucking deal with it Brady.
BRADY
See what I’m talking about.
KYLE
It’ll be fine once we get there.
MAGGIE
Exactly.
BRADY
I feel as if people have been telling me that things are going to be fine for my entire life.
KYLE
Well that’s because they have been Brady.
BRADY
I know.
“Bros” keeps playing.
INT. AJAY’S HOUSE – BASEMENT – NIGHT
Brady, Kyle, Maggie and Phyllis all stand dancing, clumped into a basement with a bunch of random people. Strobe lights go off in the background along with everybody having glow sticks.
A few seconds pass before Phyllis just wigs out and runs off out of the basement. Brady looks over at Kyle and Maggie, only to find them making-out. He sighs and walks off out of the basement.
EXT. AJAY’S BACKYARD – SIDE OF THE HOUSE – NIGHT
Brady walks over on the side of the house to find Phyllis sitting on the ground with her head on her knees.
BRADY
Jesus, you alright?
PHYLLIS
I’m fine. I just needed to breathe.
BRADY
You look like you freaked out back there.
PHYLLIS
Isn’t that normal Brady?
Phyllis stands up from the ground.
BRADY
No, I don’t think it is.
PHYLLIS
Well maybe not for you or Kyle or Maggie. I mean, you guys think all of this is normal behavior. You think this is what people do in college.
BRADY
This is what people do in college, or in life really. I mean, eventually you get to the point where you’re just so fucking bored, and you’re just so fucking numb to everything, that you just decide that this is the only way to handle this big elaborate bubble.
PHYLLIS
Are you always this poetic?
BRADY
Only sometimes.
PHYLLIS
Well, alright.
BRADY
It’ll all wear off eventually, ya know?
PHYLLIS
What, this feeling of complete hysteria?
BRADY
No, just the drugs.
PHYLLIS
Oh, well I guess that’s too bad.
BRADY
Yes it is.
PHYLLIS
So did Maggie and Kyle send you out here to handle this?
BRADY
No, they were making-out. So I just decided to fall on the grenade without discussing anything with anybody first.
PHYLLIS
You think I’m lame, don’t you?
BRADY
Well yeah, but I’m uncool so it balances out.
PHYLLIS
I guess so.
Brady and Phyllis are quiet for moment, before she leans in and kisses him. Brady and Phyllis start to make out for a few seconds, only to have Phyllis quickly stop and run off through the yard as a three cop cars park on the street in front of the house with their lights on.
BRADY
What the fuck…?
Brady looks over at the cars and then quickly dashes off in another direction of the backyard.
EXT. RANDOM BACKYARDS OF COLLEGE TOWN – NIGHT
Brady hops through various backyards as he can hear the sounds of other potentially fucked-up party people exiting the house.
EXT. COLLEGE SIDEWALK – NIGHT
Brady runs out onto the sidewalk and starts to catch his breath. A few seconds pass before he sees a cop car drive by on another street. Brady starts to walk at a moderate pace down the street.
EXT. COLLEGE BEER DISTRIBUTOR – NIGHT
Hannah Craig walks out of a beer distributor carrying a twelve pack. She slowly walks towards the sidewalk. Brady rushes past, speed walking. Hannah takes a second look and then steps onto the sidewalk.
HANNAH
Brady?
Brady stops and turns back to Hannah. He takes a breath and walks over in front of her.
BRADY
Hey, Hannah Craig, what a surprise.
HANNAH
Yeah really. It’s been like four years.
BRADY
Sure has.
HANNAH
So what are you doing here?
BRADY
Oh uh, ya know, just going for a walk.
HANNAH
Do you live here, in town, I mean?
BRADY
No, uh, I’m visiting. Kyle wanted to hang out with Maggie Horan, she goes here, and so we drove up.
HANNAH
Oh, well where are those guys?
BRADY
Either making-out or in a cop car. Possibly both.
HANNAH
I’m having trouble following here.
BRADY
It’s not really a big deal. We were at a party. Cops busted it, I think.
HANNAH
Was it Ajay’s rave?
BRADY
Yeah, how’d you know?
HANNAH
That’s where I was headed.
BRADY
Oh well, you may not want to now.
HANNAH
Yeah, I guess not.
(Beat)
But uh, what are you doing?
BRADY
Me, I uh… I don’t know. I guess I was just trying to walk around in circles and look for Maggie’s apartment.
HANNAH
Well, I don’t know where she lives.
BRADY
I figured.
HANNAH
But if you want, you can help me drink this beer.
BRADY
Where at?
HANNAH
I guess my apartment.
BRADY
You’re inviting me over, just like that, huh?
HANNAH
Yeah, I mean, somehow I have a feeling you’re still pretty harmless, right?
BRADY
Yeah, even more so now. I think I’ve officially lost my edge.
HANNAH
Well that’s kind of a drag Brady.
BRADY
Yeah, I know.
HANNAH
So are you up for hanging out?
BRADY
Yeah, sure. Uh… I can carry that beer too.
HANNAH
Cool. Knock yourself out.
Hannah hands Brady the case of beer as both of them start to walk down the sidewalk. “Bros” fades into “Pink Bullets” by The Shins.
INT. HANNAH’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brady sits on the couch next to Hannah, sipping a beer and flipping through a magazine.
BRADY
So you’re apartment’s pretty big for just one person.
HANNAH
Well Ross just moved in with his friend Greg.
BRADY
You used to live with Ross?
HANNAH
Yeah, I used to date Ross too.
BRADY
Yeah, I know, but I figured that would’ve ended by the time college spun around.
HANNAH
It did end, a bunch of times actually. I don’t know. We were like a bad habit for each other.
BRADY
Yeah, I know what you mean.
HANNAH
So you didn’t say you had a girlfriend or whatever, did you?
BRADY
Uh no, I didn’t. I have girls. They’re just not girlfriends.
HANNAH
Why’s that?
BRADY
I don’t know. I suppose because I’m sort of unstable at this point in my life.
HANNAH
Who isn’t unstable?
BRADY
Very true.
Brady sets the magazine down on the table.
BRADY
So, I grew out of the crush I had on you in high school about a year or so ago.
HANNAH
Well that’s good. Wouldn’t wanna just bring that up at random and look like an idiot, now would I?
BRADY
Probably not, no.
HANNAH
Ya know, I knew you did. I just… Well I suppose I was sort of a bitch in high school. I didn’t really care about anything, ya know?
BRADY
Yeah, well do you care about much of anything now?
HANNAH
Not really. I don’t know. I guess it’s give and take.
BRADY
Yeah, I suppose.
HANNAH
I don’t think we would’ve really worked out back then, or now for that matter really.
BRADY
Why do you say that?
HANNAH
I don’t know. I just think I’m past the point where I can date somebody I already know. I need to venture out, meet new people.
BRADY
You don’t know me that well. I mean, cliché as it sounds, people change in four years and besides who said I wanted to date you? I just need a place to pass the time, wait for this eventual trip to stop.
HANNAH
You ate mushrooms tonight?
BRADY
Yeah, I did.
HANNAH
Why?
BRADY
I don’t know. I guess I needed to remind myself that I’m not just running on fumes.
HANNAH
What does that even mean?
BRADY
Just ya know, the fucking routine, the whole getting used to it thing. If you hang out with the same people all the time, doing the exact same thing or at least a variation of the same thing, eventually it’ll get to you, but tonight’s different. I mean, I came here with no real expectations, and we ran into each other, and now I’m here sort of venting on the whole fact that I think I may be a completely different person now.
HANNAH
Well okay. Ya know, I’m sorry I brought it up. I mean, actually you brought it up, so what’s the deal there Brady?
BRADY
I guess I was just making conversation.
HANNAH
Right… Okay, well let’s talk about something else.
BRADY
Yeah, okay… Um… Actually, what’s wrong with the people you know? I mean, I guess sometimes you probably hate them, but all and all you can’t really escape, ya know?
HANNAH
Yeah, I know. That’s the really depressing part about it Brady.
BRADY
I guess so.
HANNAH
That party tonight, though. That was like my release from captivity. I was planning on meeting new people, reinventing myself, whatever the fuck you wanna call it.
BRADY
You would’ve just ended up running into me anyway.
HANNAH
Yeah, but it would’ve been easier to ignore you in the thick of it all.
BRADY
Yeah, I guess that’s true.
HANNAH
I’m just kidding.
BRADY
Oh, alright.
HANNAH
So are you okay? You don’t really seem like you used to.
BRADY
How did I used to seem Hannah?
HANNAH
I don’t know. Optimistic.
BRADY
I think optimism fades with time.
HANNAH
So I’m slowly learning.
Brady and Hannah both take sips of their beers in unison and then breathe.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. HANNAH’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – LATE NIGHT
Brady wakes up in the middle of the night in Hannah’s bed, without any of his clothes on. Hannah is nowhere in sight as Brady; half-asleep walks out of the room.
INT. HANNAH’S APARTMENT – BATHROOM – NIGHT
Brady walks over to the closed bathroom door and knocks on it.
BRADY
Hannah? You in there?
After no answer, Brady opens the door to find Hannah, passed out on the floor, a bunch of random pill containers spread out by the kitchen sink.
BRADY
Oh fuck…
Brady rushes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him as “Off the Rails” by The Notwist plays through the next few scenes.
INT. AMBULANCE – LATE NIGHT
Brady sits in the front of the ambulance, hearing sounds of the paramedics working on Hannah in the back.
INT. LOCAL HOSPITAL – WAITING ROOM – MORNING
Brady sits in the hospital waiting room, looking more than a little exhausted. A few seconds pass before ROSS SNYDER walks into the waiting room and over in front of him. Ross is 22 and the typical perfect boyfriend despite all the previous complications.
ROSS
Where is she?
BRADY
Room 202.
ROSS
Thanks Brady.
BRADY
Yeah, sure thing Ross.
Ross rushes out of the waiting room as Brady takes a breath, stands up and walks out of the waiting room.
EXT. LOCAL HOSPITAL – PARKING LOT – DAWN
The sun is just coming up as Brady walks through the parking lot with his phone to his ear. After a few seconds, Kyle picks up on the other line, sounding like shit.
KYLE (V.O.)
Hello?
BRADY
You still alive?
KYLE (V.O.)
Just barely. Where are you?
BRADY
The hospital.
KYLE (V.O.)
You freak out or something?
BRADY
I wish my life was that simple.
KYLE (V.O.)
I guess we all do.
BRADY
Anyway, I think I wanna drive back, go to Candace’s party tonight.
KYLE (V.O.)
Well alright, that’s fine. Do you need me to pick you up?
BRADY
Yeah, I think so. I have no idea where I am.
KYLE (V.O.)
Alright, give me about twenty minutes.
BRADY
Sounds good.
Brady closes his phone as “Off the Rails” keeps playing.
INT. KYLE’S CAR – DAY
Kyle drives down the highway with Brady sitting up front.
KYLE
So then we both kind of freaked out, went our separate ways and I ended up sleeping in Ajay’s basement.
BRADY
I could’ve sworn that party got busted.
KYLE
You must’ve been seeing shit.
BRADY
Phyllis ran off before I did.
KYLE
Well she was beyond far-gone anyway.
BRADY
I guess that’s true.
KYLE
But whatever, I’m sure she made it back okay. What the fuck happened to you, or are we not discussing the fact that I just picked you up at the hospital?
BRADY
It would just sound made up if I told you the truth.
KYLE
So this is gonna be one of those things we don’t mention again?
BRADY
Yeah, I think so. Just like all those other weekends.
KYLE
Well, okay.
(Beat)
So do we wanna get more stuff for tonight?
BRADY
Don’t think so. I mean, if you want to, then go ahead. I think life would probably easier the other way.
KYLE
So you’re not gonna take anything?
BRADY
No, I’ll develop the slow stoney-beer buzz, but no psychedelics tonight.
KYLE
Alright, that works. Of course, are you sure about this party? I mean, it’s just gonna make you extremely depressed or whatever.
BRADY
Yeah, I know. I think I’m okay with that now, though.
KYLE
Well, cool.
(Beat)
So this was fucking long ass drive and neither one of us got laid.
BRADY
Yeah, it’s a real bummer, huh?
KYLE
Definitely.
Kyle keeps driving.
INT. CANDACE’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brady, Kyle and Gracie stand in the one corner with beers. Candace stands on the other side of the room, alone, a mess of partygoers between them. “The Source” by Built to Spill plays in the background.
GRACIE
So I didn’t think we’d end up here tonight.
BRADY
Yeah, well it could be worse, I guess.
GRACIE
Yeah, I mean, at least we’re not alone.
KYLE
What do you guys think Zack’s excuse is gonna be?
BRADY
It doesn’t matter.
KYLE
Yeah, you’re right.
GRACIE
Well are you gonna go talk to her?
BRADY
What’s the point? We’re all fucked anyway, remember?
Brady walks out of the living room, downing the rest of his beer.
EXT. CANDACE’S FRONT PORCH – NIGHT
Brady walks out onto the front porch, a few scattered smokers around. A few seconds pass before Candace walks out next to him and lights a cigarette for herself.
CANDACE
Why do you always hang out with smokers if you don’t smoke?
BRADY
I don’t know. I guess I like to be that guy just a little closer to death.
CANDACE
Right…
BRADY
So how’s twenty feel?
CANDACE
Worse than nineteen.
BRADY
Well you’ll get that from time to time.
CANDACE
Yeah, I know. I mean, that’s what everyone told me.
BRADY
Well, me too.
CANDACE
So, I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?
BRADY
What do you mean?
CANDACE
I mean, I make bad decisions.
BRADY
What’s your point?
CANDACE
Zack’s a bad decision.
BRADY
Oh well yeah, no duh.
CANDACE
You don’t really care much anymore, do you?
BRADY
No, I don’t think so. I mean, truth be told I thought it’d be like before, ya know, where I tried to talk myself out of being in love with you, but I never could.
CANDACE
And now it’s just easier, right?
BRADY
Yeah, I think so. I mean, when push comes to shove, we all kind of wanna kill ourselves. It’s just really fucking dumb to do it over a girl. I mean, what kind of a fucking cliché, am I?
CANDACE
The kind that at least showed up to my party.
BRADY
Oh, well there’s an explanation for that.
CANDACE
What is it?
BRADY
Another night of tripping on mushrooms, exploring some uncharted territory, sleeping with my high school crush, and then having to go with her in the ambulance before she gets her stomach pumped, just really didn’t appeal to me. It’s nicer here, ya know? With people who are as reliably dull as you are Candace.
CANDACE
Well thanks for that Brady.
BRADY
Sure thing.
Brady grabs the cigarette out of Candace’s mouth and throws it into the yard.
BRADY
What the fuck…?
CANDACE
You’ll kill yourself smoking those things.
Brady walks back into the house, leaving Candace to her thoughts. “Closing Time” by Semisonic plays through the next sequence.
INT. CANDACE’S HOUSE – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Brady walks through the living room with a beer in his hand. Kyle and Gracie bullshit as normal as Brady takes his place next to them.
REVERSE ANGLE as Brady sees Bianca walk into the house, carrying a six pack of beer. Surprises, Brady walks over right in front of her.
BRADY
I don’t get it.
BIANCA
I got your message. I figured it’d work better as a surprise.
BRADY
I didn’t tell you where the party was.
BIANCA
I know, your facebook did.
BRADY
You’re a pretty big fucking stalker, ya know that?
BIANCA
Yeah, I know. Yet another problem we didn’t discuss nearly enough in group.
BRADY
So what does this mean exactly?
BIANCA
It means the inevitable pull of boredom has hit hard yet again.
BRADY
Well I think I can live with that.
BIANCA
Cool. Let’s get fucked up.
BRADY
(Holding up his beer)
Four steps ahead of you.
Bianca takes a beer out of the six pack and walks into the living room. Brady follows closely behind as “Closing Time” kicks in.
FADE OUT
THE END
Sunday, January 27, 2008
bars
Item: white porcelain toilet tank cover
A portly fellow, much more round than he is tall, stands waiting for the bathroom door to swing open. He is staring at the flickering television set in the corner of the crowded room. Sports bloopers. He is not smiling. His eyes are dead. He blinks them more times than what he should. His hands are clasped together across his stomach and he is cracking his knuckles one by one in deliberate motions. He has an enviable mustache that he keeps tonguing every couple of instants. He’s leaning back against the manila wall, foot propped up, knee extended. He keeps checking the bathroom door to see if its occupant has emerged, even though he would be impossible to miss in the narrow hallway. And he knows this. He waits. Staring. Fiddling. Itching. Finally, the lock from inside is turned making a horrible clicking noise. The door opens and a man, walking tall, appears. He says that he was sorry for taking so long, and he nods to the portly fellow, then to me. The portly fellow pushes past him and slams the door shut. The lock is hastily turned and engaged. The man breathes a sigh of relief. Some time passes, I don’t know how much because the sports bloopers are engulfing me. Another man, a sad one, lines up behind me, taps me on the shoulder, says to me, “Ain’t they got more than one toilet in there?” I tell him yeah, he says “must be doing rails off of the toilet tank cover or some shit.” Time passes. Lights grow and die. The horrible sounds of the lock are once again heard. Out comes the portly fellow, eyes wide, walking tall. “Sorry for taking so long,” he says, nods to me, then to the sad man behind.
A portly fellow, much more round than he is tall, stands waiting for the bathroom door to swing open. He is staring at the flickering television set in the corner of the crowded room. Sports bloopers. He is not smiling. His eyes are dead. He blinks them more times than what he should. His hands are clasped together across his stomach and he is cracking his knuckles one by one in deliberate motions. He has an enviable mustache that he keeps tonguing every couple of instants. He’s leaning back against the manila wall, foot propped up, knee extended. He keeps checking the bathroom door to see if its occupant has emerged, even though he would be impossible to miss in the narrow hallway. And he knows this. He waits. Staring. Fiddling. Itching. Finally, the lock from inside is turned making a horrible clicking noise. The door opens and a man, walking tall, appears. He says that he was sorry for taking so long, and he nods to the portly fellow, then to me. The portly fellow pushes past him and slams the door shut. The lock is hastily turned and engaged. The man breathes a sigh of relief. Some time passes, I don’t know how much because the sports bloopers are engulfing me. Another man, a sad one, lines up behind me, taps me on the shoulder, says to me, “Ain’t they got more than one toilet in there?” I tell him yeah, he says “must be doing rails off of the toilet tank cover or some shit.” Time passes. Lights grow and die. The horrible sounds of the lock are once again heard. Out comes the portly fellow, eyes wide, walking tall. “Sorry for taking so long,” he says, nods to me, then to the sad man behind.
bars
Item: Golden Tee arcade game.
Drunk man stumbles into the main room, balancing a dark colored drink (best guess: captain and coke, seems right) between his fingers, raising his eyes to the ceiling and puffing out his cheeks while he takes a sip from the straw. Walks up to the machine and deposits two dollar bills unfolded from the large wad that he prominently displays. He is wearing a white shirt, buttoned 3/4s of the way, untucked, with blue pin stripes. Sunglasses folded and hanging out of the breast pocket. Dark, baggy blue-jeans. Gold chain around his neck. After mashing some buttons and scanning the area to see who is looking at him, the machine lights up in a whirl of noises, piercing sounds, the man calls to his bros to check him out. He takes a running start and slams his hand across the stationary cue ball in the center console. The whizzing of the ball rolling in its chassis reverberates off of the brick walls, as there is a moment of silence between the blinding bass thumps from the hottest new jamz to be kicked by the illest disc jockey in the city. The drunk man is congratulated by the eldest member of his party, an equally drunk man, glistening under the lights, wearing the most fashionable vintage pre-ripped ball cap in the place (a distinguished honor). The man walks back to take his tee shot for the 2nd hole. His technique is not altered, and why should it be? He makes a run for the arcade machine, and his hand once again whizzes over the white ball. His skin becomes pinched between the ball and the arcade game's control panel. He screams in horror as the skin is peeled from his hand like a cobweb being torn down. His eyes go wide and he grabs at the exposed hand with his other hand, but not before the blood begins to pour out, drenching the video screen of the arcade game. The music cuts out. Slowly, there begins a chorus of laughter from the establishment's patrons, building into a lively climax. The drunk man is on the ground, bleeding, sobbing. He has learned a valuable lesson of the dangers and possible peril that can come as a result of haughty play during a round of indoor golf.
Drunk man stumbles into the main room, balancing a dark colored drink (best guess: captain and coke, seems right) between his fingers, raising his eyes to the ceiling and puffing out his cheeks while he takes a sip from the straw. Walks up to the machine and deposits two dollar bills unfolded from the large wad that he prominently displays. He is wearing a white shirt, buttoned 3/4s of the way, untucked, with blue pin stripes. Sunglasses folded and hanging out of the breast pocket. Dark, baggy blue-jeans. Gold chain around his neck. After mashing some buttons and scanning the area to see who is looking at him, the machine lights up in a whirl of noises, piercing sounds, the man calls to his bros to check him out. He takes a running start and slams his hand across the stationary cue ball in the center console. The whizzing of the ball rolling in its chassis reverberates off of the brick walls, as there is a moment of silence between the blinding bass thumps from the hottest new jamz to be kicked by the illest disc jockey in the city. The drunk man is congratulated by the eldest member of his party, an equally drunk man, glistening under the lights, wearing the most fashionable vintage pre-ripped ball cap in the place (a distinguished honor). The man walks back to take his tee shot for the 2nd hole. His technique is not altered, and why should it be? He makes a run for the arcade machine, and his hand once again whizzes over the white ball. His skin becomes pinched between the ball and the arcade game's control panel. He screams in horror as the skin is peeled from his hand like a cobweb being torn down. His eyes go wide and he grabs at the exposed hand with his other hand, but not before the blood begins to pour out, drenching the video screen of the arcade game. The music cuts out. Slowly, there begins a chorus of laughter from the establishment's patrons, building into a lively climax. The drunk man is on the ground, bleeding, sobbing. He has learned a valuable lesson of the dangers and possible peril that can come as a result of haughty play during a round of indoor golf.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
upstairs. the street that makes it seem we're in a different city.
consider everything. the blue and pink leis hanging on the wall. haha. this isn't my apartment. but i'm here. don't really know this person either. but it's cool. these four dudes are just sitting here, talking...about funny shit. when you make an attempt to listen to a group of men, sometimes it's neat to not care what they say. and act like you don't really care and you're just a weird girl on a computer stoned out of her mind and just looking around. there's a "the doors" cloth hanging on the door. it's wood. thank god.
cheesy humor...you know like...just saying what you mean, and all the shit that comes into your head and trying not to be too...distancing, to the world. and believing in your self, whatever. that kinda goofiness....of not bein too....tooo.... i dunno. you know.
something haha. hahaha. okay..anyway...
"you think things might be okay?"
cheesy humor...you know like...just saying what you mean, and all the shit that comes into your head and trying not to be too...distancing, to the world. and believing in your self, whatever. that kinda goofiness....of not bein too....tooo.... i dunno. you know.
something haha. hahaha. okay..anyway...
"you think things might be okay?"
Friday, January 25, 2008
How the Internet has Debased Self-Portrait: A Curated Dissertation Considering the Impact of Digital Aesthetics and Media on the Art Historical Canon
"I just think that the whole idea is analogous to the false sense of self-actualization that the internet makes available to everyone. Rather than study, work, and produce, one is able to simply namedrop, reconfigure the colorways of their templates, and present a non-thing as a product. (phone rings, playing an arpeggiated Tristan Chord.) Excuse me. And somewhere, shrouded in the subconscious, he or she is allowed, no, expected to suppress any guilt. That person continues the cycle of masturbatory, self-aggrandizement in lieu of real actuation."
Testimonial 733f
Testimonial 733f
ss
We were walking in the woods, just like we did every day. We were in deep. She was ahead of me, about fourteen feet if I had to guess. The trees up there bent down and were genuflecting. They were heavy with some ice that came the previous night. The tiny jutting branches looked coated with blown glass. The sun was shimmering off of them and drenching us. The ground wasn’t covered with anything new, no snow, just damp leaves decomposing into the dirt. I was looking at the prints that we had left the previous day, and the day before that, and the day before that…
The air was full and it was crisp, you could feel every molecule of it enter your lungs and clean them off while it was in there. Then you could feel all of it exiting just the same as it came in. You could see it leaving, though, that was the difference. I thought about how it looked as it came out and disappeared and I wondered about just what was disappearing when it was doing that. What it was taking with it.
She was ahead, like I said, and she was looking at a cluster of dense brush low to the ground. She was up close to it, checking it out. She had her face buried in it, and it made me want to laugh so I laughed to the woods.
Slow down so I can catch up, I said, sounded paltry against the trees.
What ya doin’ up there?
She didn’t make any notice that I was talking to her, so I just let it go and quickened my step to get to where she was, face buried in the bush.
We had both worn a path into these woods from walking all the time, but it was nice to see. Nice to know that we were doing something out here where no one else was doing anything. When we started, it was just woods, woods and mud and fallen trees. No sign of anything that had come from anyone, no markings, engravings in the wood, garbage, remains of a fire, nothing. We walked the same route everyday, we made a path of our own, because we liked to do it and we liked to know that it was just us doing it. She especially loved it. She loved looking at all of the bugs and bent leaves. She loved to get really close to them. Take them in. She never complained about following the path, either. And we walked it every day.
Things weren’t so lively in the winter. Most of everything was dead or dying. It was all a pale shade of white. A thousand ghosts were just stuck there gliding around. It was really quiet in the winter, mostly, except for the crunches from the snow breaking beneath each step. But today, there was no snow. There was no sound. Just motion and just leftover white.
Ladybird, don’t you ignore me when I call fer you.
That got her attention. She turned her head, stared at me, blinked her black eyes for a couple of sets. Her nose pickled up as she was trying to distinguish something from the air. Her eyes got glassy.
You don’t want me to have to come over there and grab ya, I said.
She turned around and continued to sniff, the little puffs of her breathing turning the ice into streams. She was a distinguished winner four years prior in the regional dog show. First place: Bluetick mix. My parents had brushed her a lot that year, even though I brushed her a lot in years previous to that. Her coat was a brilliant mix of browns and blacks, all thrown onto a core of white. There was some gray jutting through these days in her old age. The ears that hung in her face were muting veils and she always threw them from it in a fury of flapping skin. Signature sunken eyes gave her the perpetually sad look, and even though she never was, I pretended that she was because I was.
She was twelve. I was fourteen. Don’t remember too much of my life before she was in it. Don’t remember any of it, actually. Do remember the first time she bit me, I think. I know it was the only time. I just got home from preschool and was showing my mom a picture of a chicken that I colored that day. My mom said Lady was jealous so she bit. She told me that I cried a lot, and then through my tears I went over to Lady and wrapped her on one on her nose. She whimpered, and so did I, and she hasn’t bit since.
I heard a cluster of ice on a tree snap and crumble in the distance. The sound came to me in slow waves, got into my head and filled it up. Swam around. Ladybird heard it, too, and she went stiff. Like she was fresh from the taxidermist. She dismissed it quickly and went back to pawing at the mushed ground. Aside from her sniffing, there came the silence again.
It was getting cold. I pressed my hands together like I was doing some sort of praying and I brought them up to my face. I blew into them with the soupy breath that was gurgling in my lungs. I didn’t wear gloves because I didn’t have anything other than thin gloves that didn’t do much protecting at all. The breath rushing between my hands caused them to burn and sting as the blood in them started to move again. They turned a pink like the sunset I wouldn’t see that night.
Lady was still trotting around the low bushes, but I had caught up to her. I plunged my hand deep into the corduroy pocket on my pants, fumbled around, pulled out a black horn-shaped pipe. Brought it up to my face, like I had done with my hands, and sniffed in the lingering burnt smoke smell. Plunged my hand into my other corduroy pocket and pulled out a bag of tobacco. Pulled some strings of dirty shag from the bag and stuffed them in to the bowl of the pipe. Every now and every again I would palm this, my dad’s pipe, before leaving for my walk with the old girl. I loved to watch the smoke hanging on the air on windless days. White smoke against white sky. It would linger in a curling line behind us as we walked, and Lady would jovially hobble in front of me, occasionally turning around to watch me tongue my bottom teeth because I loved how my mouth tasted after a deep breath of thick smoke. The tobacco was my own. Was able to purchase bagfuls at the aging general store in town. The aging clerk knew of my own age, but I think he sensed that the tobacco would be an integral part of me being me out there. He had a glint in his eyes, he shrouded it by a green visor, probably for professional reasons in a town like our town, but he had a glint in his eyes. And that glint told me that he used to come home to his own house with his fingernails encrusted with mud, and that if I were able to look at his feet they would show to be hewn from the woods, calloused and sturdy. Probably had a great hound of his own once.
$3.59, he would say.
He would put his lips together and curl them upward toward the sky. He would put a hand through his white hair and slick it back over his head. I would lay him four ones on the counter.
Going to be cold, he would say. Better keep bundled up, he would say.
I would stuff the brown bag into the corduroy and I would leave. He would let his eye drag extra long on me as I left. Then I watched through the store window as he would hunch over the counter and scribble down black lines on a yellow piece of paper, biting his lips.
Lady, let’s go home! I smacked my hands together in a sting. Gettin’ to be damn cold. Can’t feel my thumbs.
The dog didn’t turn around. She went still again like before. And then all at once she made a dive right into the icy brush where she had been sniffing. Her paws slid a little trying to dig in and then she disappeared under the growth. Seeing her move like that was something that I hadn’t seen in so long that I think my mind dismissed it as a pure fallacy at first. She usually moved with such lethargy that you could get fat-man-watching-television lazy just from looking at her too long.
Ladybird! I yelled. The fuck are you doin’? I dropped to my knees and peered into the hole.
Under the bushes there was a drop-off, about 3 feet slanted down and the dense ground hung over it like it was some kind of mushroom cap. It went deep and down like a wartime trench. Never had seen that particular opening before. And my initial thoughts were all about how it seemed to be quite a natural wonder. A dazzling mini-cave of sorts. If I had known about it many years and clothes sizes ago, I could have turned it into an astonishing hide-out, I bet. But I did not get there first. And right then I thought about what did.
There was the strained yelping that accompanied those cautionary thoughts. I knew it too well. She did it when she didn’t get fed on time. It wasn’t usually like this, though. Usually a lot more hushed. Artificial. Like when asshole people go boo-hoo after you get done telling a sob story. Boo hoo was the noise people made when they cried sometimes, but asshole people saying boo-hoo wasn’t anything like the real thing. And my Ladybird yelping when she didn’t get fed wasn’t anything like the real thing, either.
Started to panic. The hole sucked in, dismantled any of the sun’s rays that found their way in. Black was all I could see. I blinked my eyes in a fruitless attempt to focus them as I rustled up closer to the opening. I reached my hand inside as far as it would go. I had no care for what might be on the other side. My hand fumbled around but only grasped at mounds of stray dirt and tiny piles of snow, all while my dog was screaming.
At first I thought we had gotten her because the Satterfield family was giving her away. They found her mother after she had been mashed by a car, still alive. Howling her head off, she delivered four puppies. Then she died. One of the puppies died, too. My mother said that it looked like a sucked-on butterscotch candy. The Satterfields’ kept two of the hounds for themselves, they were hunting enthusiasts after all, and they put up a sign in their yard that they had a dog to give away. A lot of dogs come to people that way, through other people, and that’s how I thought Lady had come to us, but that’s not how she came to us. We were the Satterfields’ neighbors, with only a gravel road rarely traveled and a huge expanse of flat, green grass between our sturdy houses. And one day when the Satterfields’ were picking weeds or something of the sort, Lady skittered through a thin hole in their screen door and took off across that green grass and lonely road. And she mauled me. My mother was doing some gardening close by. I was sitting on a dirt mound being two years old. Lady licked my fat face and my mom shooed her away. Said, A hound like that deserves to be pulled into hell.
Then Lady looked up at my mom. Panted. Tongue hung out of her mouth. She didn’t go back over to the Satterfields’ house ever again. She stayed at ours. My mother was in love with her. Sometimes I thought more than she loved me.
Never been around death before. Never saw, heard, talked about, listened to, been preached to about, none of it. After Lady yelped some more, after my teeth were just about chipped from clenching them so tight, and after my fingers were just about broken from digging into the frozen ground. She licked at my hand still inside the hole and the contact startled me back. I grabbed at her collar. Pulled her out. She emerged. Face bloodied. Dragging her hind leg. Tongue hanging out the left side of her mouth. She plopped down in front of me. Seeing her like that had me recoil, move back, slipping in the snow. I lunged forward. Wrapped my arms around her. Knowing full well it was useless anyway, still I scanned the forest for help. Only saw a crow flap its wings and take off from a dead branch. She was shivering. I was shivering. I struggled to maintain a handle on the situation. Brought her away from my body to look at her wounds. She stared up at me. Made high pitched noises in between breaths. I took my hand, grabbed her snout, began pushing the blood around to find where it was coming from. Her black eyes were fixed on my contorted face. Blinking wildly. Couldn’t find the wound, I determined that it wasn’t her blood on her face. I felt a surge of hope push itself through my blood.
Ladybird, where you hurt? …Where you hurting, girl?... The fuck happened? I said, while searching her over.
She was heavier on my lap than times before. She wasn’t taking any care to distribute any of her weight. She was just sagging. I wanted to cradle her. Rock her to a sleep so great she wouldn’t hurt anymore. I tried to reposition her and saw that my corduroys were soaked through with blood. This time it was hers. Dripping from a nasty gash on her right side. Just beside her stomach. Red like the sunset I wouldn’t see that night.
Je-sus, I said upon the discovery.
Felt gut-punched. Her injured leg was fluttering. The blood was gathering in a pool beside my knees. She reached up, licked my face like that first time. She closed her eyes. And I closed mine. And they dripped a drop from each. I rocked, and rocked, and rocked, and rocked…
I had never been around death before. All grandparents were intact. No friends hit by cars. No schoolmates who shot themselves. I carried her body in my arms the entire way back. They ached under her weight. Her tongue hung out from the side of her mouth. It was just limp and long and hung there. My face felt heavy. It was drooped to the ground and spilling itself. I placed her body beside our fire pit and threw some of our stored wood into the ring. I lit it. The flames flickered spryly against the lingering sunlight. I took a shovel from the tool shed and put it atop of the burning orange. Waited till it glowed. Walked behind the shed where she took refuge on the guts burning days of summer. Stuck the shovel into the earth. Watched the steam rise in coils around me. Dug it. Placed her down. Covered it. Stared. Listened to the trees crackle off of themselves.
When I went into my house my mother told me that dinner was ready and that I was responsible for gathering the scraps to give to Lady. Told her okay. She asked if it smelled good and I said yes even though I wasn't breathing. Went to my room. Opened a box underneath my bed and pulled out a dull pink cylinder about three inches long. Put it in my pocket. Went back outside. I walked and walked and walked…back to the hole. The signals of the happening were bright and bleak. Claw marks in the hard dirt. Thrown tufts of bushes. A blood puddle set serenely in the white ground. I lit the wick of the pink cylinder and threw it into the hole. Waited. Winced when the explosion hit, even though I was expecting it. There was nothing left. Walked home.
The air was full and it was crisp, you could feel every molecule of it enter your lungs and clean them off while it was in there. Then you could feel all of it exiting just the same as it came in. You could see it leaving, though, that was the difference. I thought about how it looked as it came out and disappeared and I wondered about just what was disappearing when it was doing that. What it was taking with it.
She was ahead, like I said, and she was looking at a cluster of dense brush low to the ground. She was up close to it, checking it out. She had her face buried in it, and it made me want to laugh so I laughed to the woods.
Slow down so I can catch up, I said, sounded paltry against the trees.
What ya doin’ up there?
She didn’t make any notice that I was talking to her, so I just let it go and quickened my step to get to where she was, face buried in the bush.
We had both worn a path into these woods from walking all the time, but it was nice to see. Nice to know that we were doing something out here where no one else was doing anything. When we started, it was just woods, woods and mud and fallen trees. No sign of anything that had come from anyone, no markings, engravings in the wood, garbage, remains of a fire, nothing. We walked the same route everyday, we made a path of our own, because we liked to do it and we liked to know that it was just us doing it. She especially loved it. She loved looking at all of the bugs and bent leaves. She loved to get really close to them. Take them in. She never complained about following the path, either. And we walked it every day.
Things weren’t so lively in the winter. Most of everything was dead or dying. It was all a pale shade of white. A thousand ghosts were just stuck there gliding around. It was really quiet in the winter, mostly, except for the crunches from the snow breaking beneath each step. But today, there was no snow. There was no sound. Just motion and just leftover white.
Ladybird, don’t you ignore me when I call fer you.
That got her attention. She turned her head, stared at me, blinked her black eyes for a couple of sets. Her nose pickled up as she was trying to distinguish something from the air. Her eyes got glassy.
You don’t want me to have to come over there and grab ya, I said.
She turned around and continued to sniff, the little puffs of her breathing turning the ice into streams. She was a distinguished winner four years prior in the regional dog show. First place: Bluetick mix. My parents had brushed her a lot that year, even though I brushed her a lot in years previous to that. Her coat was a brilliant mix of browns and blacks, all thrown onto a core of white. There was some gray jutting through these days in her old age. The ears that hung in her face were muting veils and she always threw them from it in a fury of flapping skin. Signature sunken eyes gave her the perpetually sad look, and even though she never was, I pretended that she was because I was.
She was twelve. I was fourteen. Don’t remember too much of my life before she was in it. Don’t remember any of it, actually. Do remember the first time she bit me, I think. I know it was the only time. I just got home from preschool and was showing my mom a picture of a chicken that I colored that day. My mom said Lady was jealous so she bit. She told me that I cried a lot, and then through my tears I went over to Lady and wrapped her on one on her nose. She whimpered, and so did I, and she hasn’t bit since.
I heard a cluster of ice on a tree snap and crumble in the distance. The sound came to me in slow waves, got into my head and filled it up. Swam around. Ladybird heard it, too, and she went stiff. Like she was fresh from the taxidermist. She dismissed it quickly and went back to pawing at the mushed ground. Aside from her sniffing, there came the silence again.
It was getting cold. I pressed my hands together like I was doing some sort of praying and I brought them up to my face. I blew into them with the soupy breath that was gurgling in my lungs. I didn’t wear gloves because I didn’t have anything other than thin gloves that didn’t do much protecting at all. The breath rushing between my hands caused them to burn and sting as the blood in them started to move again. They turned a pink like the sunset I wouldn’t see that night.
Lady was still trotting around the low bushes, but I had caught up to her. I plunged my hand deep into the corduroy pocket on my pants, fumbled around, pulled out a black horn-shaped pipe. Brought it up to my face, like I had done with my hands, and sniffed in the lingering burnt smoke smell. Plunged my hand into my other corduroy pocket and pulled out a bag of tobacco. Pulled some strings of dirty shag from the bag and stuffed them in to the bowl of the pipe. Every now and every again I would palm this, my dad’s pipe, before leaving for my walk with the old girl. I loved to watch the smoke hanging on the air on windless days. White smoke against white sky. It would linger in a curling line behind us as we walked, and Lady would jovially hobble in front of me, occasionally turning around to watch me tongue my bottom teeth because I loved how my mouth tasted after a deep breath of thick smoke. The tobacco was my own. Was able to purchase bagfuls at the aging general store in town. The aging clerk knew of my own age, but I think he sensed that the tobacco would be an integral part of me being me out there. He had a glint in his eyes, he shrouded it by a green visor, probably for professional reasons in a town like our town, but he had a glint in his eyes. And that glint told me that he used to come home to his own house with his fingernails encrusted with mud, and that if I were able to look at his feet they would show to be hewn from the woods, calloused and sturdy. Probably had a great hound of his own once.
$3.59, he would say.
He would put his lips together and curl them upward toward the sky. He would put a hand through his white hair and slick it back over his head. I would lay him four ones on the counter.
Going to be cold, he would say. Better keep bundled up, he would say.
I would stuff the brown bag into the corduroy and I would leave. He would let his eye drag extra long on me as I left. Then I watched through the store window as he would hunch over the counter and scribble down black lines on a yellow piece of paper, biting his lips.
Lady, let’s go home! I smacked my hands together in a sting. Gettin’ to be damn cold. Can’t feel my thumbs.
The dog didn’t turn around. She went still again like before. And then all at once she made a dive right into the icy brush where she had been sniffing. Her paws slid a little trying to dig in and then she disappeared under the growth. Seeing her move like that was something that I hadn’t seen in so long that I think my mind dismissed it as a pure fallacy at first. She usually moved with such lethargy that you could get fat-man-watching-television lazy just from looking at her too long.
Ladybird! I yelled. The fuck are you doin’? I dropped to my knees and peered into the hole.
Under the bushes there was a drop-off, about 3 feet slanted down and the dense ground hung over it like it was some kind of mushroom cap. It went deep and down like a wartime trench. Never had seen that particular opening before. And my initial thoughts were all about how it seemed to be quite a natural wonder. A dazzling mini-cave of sorts. If I had known about it many years and clothes sizes ago, I could have turned it into an astonishing hide-out, I bet. But I did not get there first. And right then I thought about what did.
There was the strained yelping that accompanied those cautionary thoughts. I knew it too well. She did it when she didn’t get fed on time. It wasn’t usually like this, though. Usually a lot more hushed. Artificial. Like when asshole people go boo-hoo after you get done telling a sob story. Boo hoo was the noise people made when they cried sometimes, but asshole people saying boo-hoo wasn’t anything like the real thing. And my Ladybird yelping when she didn’t get fed wasn’t anything like the real thing, either.
Started to panic. The hole sucked in, dismantled any of the sun’s rays that found their way in. Black was all I could see. I blinked my eyes in a fruitless attempt to focus them as I rustled up closer to the opening. I reached my hand inside as far as it would go. I had no care for what might be on the other side. My hand fumbled around but only grasped at mounds of stray dirt and tiny piles of snow, all while my dog was screaming.
At first I thought we had gotten her because the Satterfield family was giving her away. They found her mother after she had been mashed by a car, still alive. Howling her head off, she delivered four puppies. Then she died. One of the puppies died, too. My mother said that it looked like a sucked-on butterscotch candy. The Satterfields’ kept two of the hounds for themselves, they were hunting enthusiasts after all, and they put up a sign in their yard that they had a dog to give away. A lot of dogs come to people that way, through other people, and that’s how I thought Lady had come to us, but that’s not how she came to us. We were the Satterfields’ neighbors, with only a gravel road rarely traveled and a huge expanse of flat, green grass between our sturdy houses. And one day when the Satterfields’ were picking weeds or something of the sort, Lady skittered through a thin hole in their screen door and took off across that green grass and lonely road. And she mauled me. My mother was doing some gardening close by. I was sitting on a dirt mound being two years old. Lady licked my fat face and my mom shooed her away. Said, A hound like that deserves to be pulled into hell.
Then Lady looked up at my mom. Panted. Tongue hung out of her mouth. She didn’t go back over to the Satterfields’ house ever again. She stayed at ours. My mother was in love with her. Sometimes I thought more than she loved me.
Never been around death before. Never saw, heard, talked about, listened to, been preached to about, none of it. After Lady yelped some more, after my teeth were just about chipped from clenching them so tight, and after my fingers were just about broken from digging into the frozen ground. She licked at my hand still inside the hole and the contact startled me back. I grabbed at her collar. Pulled her out. She emerged. Face bloodied. Dragging her hind leg. Tongue hanging out the left side of her mouth. She plopped down in front of me. Seeing her like that had me recoil, move back, slipping in the snow. I lunged forward. Wrapped my arms around her. Knowing full well it was useless anyway, still I scanned the forest for help. Only saw a crow flap its wings and take off from a dead branch. She was shivering. I was shivering. I struggled to maintain a handle on the situation. Brought her away from my body to look at her wounds. She stared up at me. Made high pitched noises in between breaths. I took my hand, grabbed her snout, began pushing the blood around to find where it was coming from. Her black eyes were fixed on my contorted face. Blinking wildly. Couldn’t find the wound, I determined that it wasn’t her blood on her face. I felt a surge of hope push itself through my blood.
Ladybird, where you hurt? …Where you hurting, girl?... The fuck happened? I said, while searching her over.
She was heavier on my lap than times before. She wasn’t taking any care to distribute any of her weight. She was just sagging. I wanted to cradle her. Rock her to a sleep so great she wouldn’t hurt anymore. I tried to reposition her and saw that my corduroys were soaked through with blood. This time it was hers. Dripping from a nasty gash on her right side. Just beside her stomach. Red like the sunset I wouldn’t see that night.
Je-sus, I said upon the discovery.
Felt gut-punched. Her injured leg was fluttering. The blood was gathering in a pool beside my knees. She reached up, licked my face like that first time. She closed her eyes. And I closed mine. And they dripped a drop from each. I rocked, and rocked, and rocked, and rocked…
I had never been around death before. All grandparents were intact. No friends hit by cars. No schoolmates who shot themselves. I carried her body in my arms the entire way back. They ached under her weight. Her tongue hung out from the side of her mouth. It was just limp and long and hung there. My face felt heavy. It was drooped to the ground and spilling itself. I placed her body beside our fire pit and threw some of our stored wood into the ring. I lit it. The flames flickered spryly against the lingering sunlight. I took a shovel from the tool shed and put it atop of the burning orange. Waited till it glowed. Walked behind the shed where she took refuge on the guts burning days of summer. Stuck the shovel into the earth. Watched the steam rise in coils around me. Dug it. Placed her down. Covered it. Stared. Listened to the trees crackle off of themselves.
When I went into my house my mother told me that dinner was ready and that I was responsible for gathering the scraps to give to Lady. Told her okay. She asked if it smelled good and I said yes even though I wasn't breathing. Went to my room. Opened a box underneath my bed and pulled out a dull pink cylinder about three inches long. Put it in my pocket. Went back outside. I walked and walked and walked…back to the hole. The signals of the happening were bright and bleak. Claw marks in the hard dirt. Thrown tufts of bushes. A blood puddle set serenely in the white ground. I lit the wick of the pink cylinder and threw it into the hole. Waited. Winced when the explosion hit, even though I was expecting it. There was nothing left. Walked home.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
To Be Titled Screenplay Part 3: 60 to 90 minute mark
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. BIANCA’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – MORNING
Brady lies asleep in bed, as Bianca shakes him to wake him up.
BRADY
What is it?
BIANCA
Get up. Put some clothes on. Go home.
Brady opens his eyes, somewhat surprised.
BRADY
What is your dad coming home from work or something?
BIANCA
No, it’s nothing like that. I’ve just been thinking for the last hour or so.
BRADY
You’ve been thinking? I’m so hungover, I don’t think I can really function right now.
BIANCA
Well okay, then go throw up in the bathroom and then go home.
BRADY
Why are you frantically attempting to kick me out of your apartment like some thirteen-year-old girl?
BIANCA
Because I’ve been thinking about how my life needs to change this year, and well… I sort of wanna call you my last big mistake Brady.
BRADY
A big mistake usually involves a longer period of time.
BIANCA
Well you can adjust it however you want. All I’m saying is that this isn’t going to work out. I mean, I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think I can honestly date someone I met in rehab.
BRADY
Really? I thought people did it all the time.
BIANCA
Not normal people.
BRADY
Who wants to be normal in this day and age?
BIANCA
I think I do. I mean, I’ve been through all the shit, now I’m ready for something sort of steady.
BRADY
I’m steady.
BIANCA
You’re suicidal.
BRADY
No, I’m over that now. I mean, that was why I asked you out for New Year’s, I’m ready to start a new.
BIANCA
Well so am I, just not in the same way that you’re thinking.
BRADY
So you’re kicking your suicidal one-night-stand to the curb all of a sudden?
BIANCA
Don’t act like it’s a bigger deal than it is, and besides, you said you were fine now.
BRADY
I thought I was. It’s just that all of this is sort of unexpected.
BIANCA
Well yeah, I know, but I think I need to start being this way, just brutally honest or whatever.
BRADY
Man, well that’s fucking stupid.
BIANCA
I know. I’m sorry. I mean, it’s just one of those things, though.
BRADY
You’re giving me yet another cliché to attempt to explain why the world is shit?
BIANCA
I’m sorry, but this is how it is sometimes. The world…
BRADY
No, you’re right. Fuck it. I don’t care about any of this. I’m about to go back for my last semester of college. I think I’m officially ready to turn into one of those other guys.
Brady rolls out of bed and starts to grab and throw his clothes on.
BIANCA
What do you mean ‘those other guys?’
BRADY
The Steve’s of the world. I’m sure they’ll accept me into their ranks.
BIANCA
Oh C’mon, I don’t want you to change like that. I just don’t want to date you at this particular crossroad in my life.
BRADY
Well what about just sex, would that be cool?
BIANCA
I’ll give it some thought.
BRADY
Fantastic.
Brady, somewhat pissed, throws his shirt over his head and storms out of the apartment. Bianca rolls over to his side of the bed and closes her eyes. “Bend to Squares” by Death Cab for Cutie plays through the next sequence.
EXT. BRADY’S HOUSE – DRIVEWAY – MORNING
Brady walks over to his car, which is packed with several items for returning to college. Sheryl stands in the doorway, waving goodbye as Brady backs out of the driveway and down the road.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – LATE MORNING
Brady walks into his apartment to find it mostly trashed, beer cans and filled ashtrays everywhere. A few party guests lie on the floor, asleep. Brady shakes his head and walks out of the room.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – SECONDS LATER
Brady walks into his bedroom, turns the light on, sets some bags down and falls back on his bed.
EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS IN VERMONT – SIDEWALK – MORNING
Brady walks down the sidewalk with his headphones on, on his way to class. A few seconds pass before, he sees Candace walking in the opposite direction. She stops in front of him briefly.
CANDACE
Hey.
BRADY
Hey.
CANDACE
So how’s it going?
BRADY
I gotta get to class.
Brady walks past Candace and down the sidewalk.
INT. COLLEGE BUILDING – MORNING
Brady walks into the building to find a couple (GUY & GIRL) making-out by the stairwell. Brady gives them a quick look of disgust before walking towards the stairs.
GUY
Hey, fuck you oppressor.
Brady turns back to the guy.
BRADY
What, are we in fucking high school?
Brady walks down the stairwell and through a door.
INT. LARGE COLLEGE CLASSROOM – BACK ROW – MORNING
Brady sits in the back row of seats, waiting for class to start. A few seconds pass before VERA FOROSISKY walks in and sits down next to him. Vera is 18, pretty naïve with jet-black hair. She’s a girl who thinks she knows what she’s doing, but is really pretty clueless on most fragmented aspects of life.
VERA
Hello.
BRADY
Yeah, hey.
VERA
So I hear this class is pretty much bullshit.
BRADY
Most likely. The majority of college classes are.
VERA
Yeah, I know.
(Beat)
So what’s your major?
BRADY
What is this, freshman orientation?
VERA
No, I was just curious. Usually I just sit in classes and don’t talk to anybody, but I figured this would be the right time to start conversation, ya know, at the beginning of it all.
BRADY
I’m not much for conversation.
VERA
Why’s that?
BRADY
They eventually lead nowhere.
VERA
So you don’t think this is going anywhere.
BRADY
I know this isn’t going anywhere.
VERA
Well, okay. So did you have a rough break or something?
Brady looks over at Vera and then puts his head down on his notebook.
VERA
I guess that’s a yes.
Vera pulls out her notebook and writes something down in it as “Have a Cuppa Tea” by The Kinks plays into the next scene.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM - AFTERNOON
Brady walks into his apartment to find Kyle and Gracie sitting on the couch, playing video games.
BRADY
How are you two back here before me?
GRACIE
My second class got cancelled.
BRADY
It’s the first day.
GRACIE
I know, weird, right?
KYLE
I skipped my second one.
BRADY
Why?
KYLE
I don’t know. I didn’t really feel like going. I mean, everyone gets a certain amount of leeway for the first week or so.
BRADY
Yeah, I guess.
Brady takes his backpack off and sits down on the couch.
GRACIE
How was your day?
BRADY
Rough.
GRACIE
I bet.
KYLE
So I was just thinking, Gracie, you were in with the in-crowd in high school, how many girls had abortions that you know of?
GRACIE
Uh wow, that’s kind of random.
KYLE
I know. It’s just… Well I always pass the clinic on my walk back, and the thought occurred to me today of all days.
GRACIE
Well, I don’t really know Kyle. I mean, it’s sort of one of those confidential things.
KYLE
Yeah, but this is like four years later. I mean, you can tell us now. No one keeps a secret for this long.
GRACIE
Well man, let me think. Jenny Logan, but all of us know that one. Brittany Deemer, and uh… Well Hannah had one senior year.
BRADY
Seriously?
GRACIE
Yeah, I thought you knew.
BRADY
I didn’t, actually.
GRACIE
Well yeah, that’s why her and Ross broke up for that month.
KYLE
Well that’s fucked up.
BRADY
Definitely. It’s weird, thinking about somebody in a completely different light four years later.
GRACIE
Not really. I mean, would it have really mattered to you if you did know?
BRADY
No, I guess not.
GRACIE
Well then there ya go.
BRADY
So uh, let’s change the subject. I don’t want to think about my tainted high school crushes anymore.
KYLE
I thought you said it didn’t matter.
BRADY
It doesn’t. It’s just… Well what part of rough day don’t you understand?
KYLE
Uh okay, well some good news, Ellie and them are having a kegger on Friday.
BRADY
And why is that good news?
KYLE
Well it’s something to do.
GRACIE
Exactly.
BRADY
Candace will probably be there, and Zack will most likely drive in for it, because we never make any new fucking friends.
GRACIE
Well I thought you didn’t really care about any of this shit anymore.
KYLE
Yeah, me too. I thought you were over it because of Bianca and everything.
BRADY
Well that was just a pleasant façade. Bianca and I aren’t anything.
GRACIE
What, did she break up with you, and you’ve just been refraining from telling us until now?
BRADY
No. I wish it were like that. I could deal with a break-up. She just basically said that she didn’t want me as a part of her new life, rehab free and all.
KYLE
Well so much for the concept of a support group.
BRADY
We all can’t abide by the buddy system Kyle. Some of us need to take on bigger things.
KYLE
Well just because you don’t have some hot anorexic case backing you up anymore, doesn’t mean you can’t get drunk and shitty on Friday.
BRADY
Something tells me I won’t really be in the mood for it then.
GRACIE
Well how is that different from any other Friday night?
BRADY
It really isn’t at all.
GRACIE
So don’t worry about it then.
BRADY
I’ll try my best.
Brady stands up from the couch and walks out of the room.
GRACIE
So I thought he was better.
KYLE
Denial’s one of the steps, I think.
GRACIE
Oh, I get it now.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT
Brady lies on his bed with his cellphone to his ear. After a few seconds, Bianca picks up on the other line.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Hello?
BRADY
Hey, it’s Brady. I wasn’t sure if you deleted me from your phone so soon or…
BIANCA (V.O.)
What do you want?
BRADY
I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to talk or whatever.
BIANCA (V.O.)
You called me just to talk?
BRADY
Yeah, isn’t that what people do sometimes?
BIANCA (V.O.)
Not really. Not anymore. They text usually now.
BRADY
Well that’s fucking stupid.
BIANCA (V.O.)
You say that about everything. Now, what’s up?
BRADY
Uh actually, I called because I kind of needed a favor.
BIANCA (V.O.)
What?
BRADY
What are you doing Friday?
BIANCA (V.O.)
I don’t know. It depends. There are a lot of options at this point.
BRADY
Well okay, my friend Ellie’s sort of having this party, and I know Candace is gonna be there, probably Zack too, and I need you, to pretend or ya know, just to be there.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Fuck man, I can’t do this. I mean, I can’t make this a habit. New Year’s was one thing, we were both off the wagon, but I’ve been making new friends, being cool with a bunch of different people. I don’t think I’m quite ready to jump back into your strange world where your attempted suicide isn’t a big deal just so long as you have a girlfriend.
BRADY
Well, it seems a little weird for me to have one one week and not have one the next.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Not really. I mean, Candace knows you’re not the steady kind of boyfriend anyway, that’s why she cheated on you.
BRADY
I was beyond steady.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Well whatever. You know where I’m going with all of this. Don’t make it a habit of calling me. I mean, if you’re in town, hanging out, getting ripped, maybe then I’ll hang out, but I just can’t drive up there Brady. I can’t be that person.
BRADY
Well fuck… You’re a real bummer Bianca, you know that?
BIANCA (V.O.)
You just don’t wanna admit that I’m perfect and plaguing your every thought.
BRADY
You’re not perfect. I just figured you’d be available, but whatever, I have four more days. I’ll find someone else.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Okay, you have fun with that.
BRADY
Oh, don’t worry, I will.
BIANCA (V.O.)
So, are you going to hang up or…?
BRADY
You didn’t delete me from your phone, did you?
BIANCA (V.O.)
Not yet, but I’m deeply considering such an option at this point.
BRADY
Well, so am I.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Well okay Brady.
BRADY
Okay, later.
Brady hangs up the phone and takes a breath. “Rats” by Sonic Youth plays into the next scene.
INT. ELLIE’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – FRIDAY NIGHT
Brady stands next to Vera in a crowded living room, both with beers in hand. Kyle, Gracie, Zack and Candace are all at the party as well.
VERA
So, are these people always this anti-social?
BRADY
What do you mean?
VERA
I mean, no conversations are really starting or anything.
BRADY
Oh, just you wait.
Zack and Candace walk over in front of Brady and Vera.
ZACK
Hey, what’s up man?
BRADY
Nothing, how’s it going?
ZACK
Uh, good, I guess.
BRADY
Well, cool.
VERA
Hi, I’m Vera, by the way.
BRADY
Oh yeah, uh guys, this is Vera. Vera, this is Candace and Zack.
ZACK
Hey.
CANDACE
Hello, nice to meet you.
VERA
You too.
ZACK
Well uh, I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette.
VERA
Ya know, I was gonna go do that too.
ZACK
Well, cool. I guess we’ll head outside then. Are you coming Candace or…?
CANDACE
Maybe, I’ll be out in a bit.
ZACK
Alright, cool.
(To Vera)
So what’s your major?
VERA
Undeclared.
ZACK
Nice. Indecision is good.
Zack and Vera walk out the front door as Brady and Candace stand quiet for a few seconds.
BRADY
Man, he’s getting good at that.
CANDACE
And you still joke about everything like it’s not a big deal.
BRADY
It isn’t a big deal. They’re just smoking cigarettes.
CANDACE
I didn’t mean that. I mean, this, us being here. It’s… weird, isn’t it?
BRADY
Sort of. I mean, I’m not sure where you’re going with all of this.
CANDACE
Yeah, I guess I don’t really know either.
(Beat)
So can I ask you something?
BRADY
Sure.
CANDACE
What happened to Bianca?
BRADY
Oh uh, ya know, that one didn’t really work out, but I found Vera in my Comm Media class, so I think I’ll be okay.
CANDACE
Is she a freshman?
BRADY
Why yes she is.
CANDACE
So what’s the deal now? You’re just picking up random girls from your classes and uh… Well rehab, I guess?
BRADY
Wow, you’re starting to sound like the jealous ex-girlfriend right now or something. What’s the deal there Candace?
CANDACE
I’m not jealous. I’m just wondering what you’re doing. I mean, this doesn’t seem like you.
BRADY
We don’t even know each other really. I mean, maybe I’ve been this way for awhile bow.
CANDACE
Whatever. There’s no point in making a scene out of this.
BRADY
Who’s making a scene? I…
Kyle walks over interrupting Brady.
KYLE
What’s up motha fucka?
BRADY
Nothing. What’s up with you?
KYLE
Nada. I just did a few shots. I’m gonna go from drunk to sloshed in about ten minutes or so.
CANDACE
Well that’s admirable Kyle.
KYLE
You know it. Where’s your dick of a boyfriend?
CANDACE
Outside with… what’s her name again Brady?
BRADY
Vera.
CANDACE
Oh yeah, that’s right. Man, I just remembered how bad I have to piss. I’ll be right back.
Candace walks off as Brady just shakes his head.
BRADY
Well looks like she’s blinking first.
KYLE
You gotta let that one go man. She’s confused enough as it is.
BRADY
What do you mean?
KYLE
Well, mostly everyone knows you’re a suicide case now.
BRADY
What are you talking about?
KYLE
I just had a colossal conversation with Ellie and Molly about whether or not you were okay.
BRADY
Did it sound like a pity party, or like “man he’s such a weirdo I kind of wanna fuck him now”?
KYLE
They think you’re unstable in a bad way to the point where they’re gonna probably steer clear for a little while.
BRADY
Well goddamnit. Looks like I’m gonna have to settle on Vera tonight.
KYLE
If Zack isn’t out there telling her right now?
BRADY
He wouldn’t do that to me. I mean, he may steal my girlfriend to the point where I’m suicidal, but he won’t tell my new one-night-stand that I’m a little fucked up.
KYLE
Yeah, I guess you’re right.
BRADY
But uh, do you think Candace told everyone here, like Molly and Ellie?
KYLE
Of course she fucking did. I mean, it’s all about her. Who wouldn’t tell that story? I mean, I would kill to have two chicks fighting over me to the point of suicide. That’d be bad ass.
BRADY
This is just fucked up. Why would she tell them?
KYLE
Because it’s shitty gossip, people love it. I mean, remember when Gracie gave Stan Gallucci road head, and he hit a speed bump and she ended up throwing up in his lap?
BRADY
Uh yeah, but… I mean, it’s not like I was in the backseat or something.
KYLE
No, I know, but what I’m saying is that she got over that pretty quickly. You’ll get over the fact that everyone knows you’re a suicide case. It’s not too difficult really.
BRADY
Ya know, I’m not really a suicide case anymore, though. I’m one of those other guys.
KYLE
Those guys that just fuck around a lot?
BRADY
Yeah, exactly.
KYLE
Well do you think you’re gonna get any from what’s her name tonight?
BRADY
Yeah, I’d say Vera has about an eighty-percent chance of putting out.
KYLE
Well that’s good. What if the other twenty happens?
BRADY
Then I’ll improvise.
Brady hits his beer off of Kyle’s and takes a sip. Kyle follows suit.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT
Brady and Vera lie down next to each other, Brady’s hand underneath the covers, moving back and forth while Vera gets off.
VERA
Keep going. Keep going. Faster. No, that’s too fast. Slow the fuck down. There ya go. That’s good. Yes, yes, yes!
Vera has an orgasm before pushing Brady’s hand away and rolling over. She starts to lightly sob as Brady just lies there.
BRADY
Uh shit… What’s the matter?
VERA
Nothing. I’m fine. Just go to sleep.
BRADY
I thought we were just getting warmed up.
Vera turns and looks at Brady.
VERA
No, it’s not like that Brady.
BRADY
So you just used my hand then?
VERA
Oh, don’t make it sound so shallow. Your hand’s a big deal.
Vera rolls over and shuts her eyes. Brady just lies there for a few seconds before rolling over in the opposite direction. “Returning to the Fold” by The Thermals plays through the next sequence.
INT. LARGE COLLEGE CLASSROOM – BACK ROW – MORNING
Brady sits in the back row, waiting for class to start as Vera walks in and sits down a row ahead of him. She starts talking to the guy sitting next to her.
EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS – SIDEWALK – DAY, A FEW WEEKS LATER
Brady walks down the sidewalk with his headphones on. A few seconds pass before Candace catches up behind him and taps him on the shoulder. Brady turns around, taking his headphones.
CANDACE
Hey, uh wow, you don’t ever slow the fuck down, do you?
BRADY
No, I uh… Didn’t know I had to.
CANDACE
Listen uh… Are you coming to my birthday party on Saturday?
BRADY
Oh uh, I didn’t know you were having one.
CANDACE
Well I am, and we haven’t hung out for awhile, so you need to come.
BRADY
Uh yeah, well maybe, I don’t know. For some reason I think there might be something going on that day.
CANDACE
You’re full of shit. There’s never anything going on in your life.
BRADY
Yeah, well maybe I’ll find something.
CANDACE
C’mon, don’t be a dick. You can bring Vera or whoever. I don’t care.
BRADY
Vera and I are having some problems. Uh man, I gotta get to class, so I’ll probably see you on Saturday. It just really depends is all.
CANDACE
Well okay, see ya Brady.
Brady walks off down the sidewalk.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT
Brady stands in the middle of his room, waiting for Bianca to pick up on the other line. A few seconds pass before her voicemail picks up.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Hey this is Bianca, leave a message, do your thing, whatever.
Her voicemail beeps.
BRADY
Uh hey Bianca, this is Brady. Man, I feel like a shit asking you this, but I think I’m more or less out of options here. Candace’s birthday’s on Saturday and I need an excuse to see you. So, I guess call me back when you get this. Bye.
Brady closes his phone and sighs. “Chewin the Apple of Your Eye” by The Flaming Lips plays into the next scene.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Kyle and Gracie sit on the couch, smoking a joint. Brady walks in and sits down on the couch next to them, jumping in on the rotation.
BRADY
Well, I’m completely fucked.
GRACIE
Is there something we don’t know about here Brady?
BRADY
Candace’s party. I need a date for it, and I don’t see once coming up.
GRACIE
Ya know, this whole thing where you jut decide to take some random girl to whatever party you know she’s gonna be at, is a little weird.
BRADY
Do you have any other suggestions for how I should handle things Gracie?
KYLE
I think you should probably just kill yourself.
BRADY
Fuck off.
KYLE
I’m sorry. I just don’t see what the big deal is. You can always meet somebody there. I mean, I’m sure there’ll be tons of easy girls who aren’t worth it there.
BRADY
Yeah, but that’s different. I need to show up with someone she’s gonna get jealous over.
GRACIE
You’re beyond delusional at this point Brady.
BRADY
No, I’m not. You just don’t get it. It’s all a matter of how you play your cards.
GRACIE
Well why don’t you just not go. I mean, that’s the best advice I can give you.
BRADY
Well are you guys gonna go.
GRACIE
Most likely.
KYLE
It really all depends.
BRADY
Why, what else is going on?
KYLE
I was thinking about going to Connecticut for the weekend.
BRADY
Why, what’s there?
KYLE
Do you remember Maggie Horan?
BRADY
Uh yeah, I could’ve had sex with her in high school, now that I recall.
KYLE
Really? When was that?
BRADY
Night of the big Ferris household blast, she hit on me right after Roger Bowers pissed on the rug.
KYLE
Well why the fuck didn’t you?
BRADY
Hannah, remember?
KYLE
Oh yeah. Well in retrospect Brady, would you have done it if you had known what was going on?
BRADY
I don’t fucking know. The real question is why are you all of a sudden talking to Maggie Horan?
KYLE
I don’t know. She I.M.ed me one day, started babbling on about how she broke up with her boyfriend. I mostly just looked up porn for the duration of the conversation.
GRACIE
It’s sad that I live in this apartment.
BRADY
You have no idea.
KYLE
Anyway, if I drive out there to see her, do you wanna come with?
BRADY
What the fuck am I gonna do?
KYLE
I don’t know. She has a roommate, I’m sure we can probably find some good drugs to take. We’ll make a weekend out of it.
BRADY
Ya know, there are worse ideas.
GRACIE
You can’t be serious. It’s gonna turn to shit for you Brady. I mean, don’t you see where this inclination is going?
BRADY
Sort of, but I’m not sure if it’s worse than staying here.
KYLE
It definitely isn’t. I mean, do you honestly wanna deal with Candace and all her stupid drunken birthday crap on Saturday?
BRADY
Not really.
KYLE
So there ya go. We’re taking a quaint little road trip.
GRACIE
And you guys are just gonna ditch me here, to fend for myself?
KYLE
Do you honestly wanna drive three hours away to watch us have sex with naïve girls?
GRACIE
I guess not.
BRADY
So I haven’t even seen Maggie since we graduated. Did she get considerably hotter?
GRACIE
Probably just sluttier.
KYLE
Actually, she looks pretty good in facebook pictures. I think she got a boob job.
BRADY
Really?
KYLE
Oh yeah, I mean those suckers look homemade, I don’t think they’re a product of hormones.
BRADY
Well, I guess that’s good to know.
GRACIE
I really need to meet some new people.
KYLE
Yeah, we know Gracie. It’s about time you start bringing hot girls back to the apartment, for, ya know, whatever may occur, so we don’t have to drive to Connecticut for such things.
GRACIE
You’re one of the main reasons I never think to do that Kyle.
BRADY
Well what about for me?
GRACIE
You have enough social issues already Brady.
BRADY
Well alright, we’re definitely leaving this weekend.
KYLE
Fuckin’ A right.
“Smith & Jones Forever” by Silver Jews plays into the next scene.
INT. KYLE’S CAR – FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Kyle drives with Brady sitting up front, both pretty chill.
KYLE
So why didn’t you have sex with Maggie when you had the chance?
BRADY
Because I was holding out for Hannah, remember?
KYLE
Yeah, but I mean, after that. You found out about Zack and her before Maggie left the party. Ya still could’ve slept with her.
BRADY
Well I guess I sort of lost my motivation to try after that, plus my bed had already been used.
KYLE
Well do you think it’s weird at all that we’re driving out there so I can have sex with her?
BRADY
No, not really. I mean, this is where you’re at in your life right now.
KYLE
So are you saying I’m four years behind you?
BRADY
No man, not at all. I mean, she got a boob job and she’s talking to you online. That’s something. I mean, I don’t think I can ever see myself getting a girl with silicon enhancements. They’re just out of my league, ya know?
KYLE
Ya know, it is sort of horrible that we’re here right now, isn’t it?
BRADY
No man, this is fun. I mean, I’m pretty high on my way to somewhere different with no real expectations for the night. If anything, this is what I need.
KYLE
Well okay, cool. Glad we’re on the same page.
BRADY
Yeah, well we definitely are.
KYLE
Cool.
(Beat)
So if Maggie slept with all those guys in high school and then got a boob job like a year ago, how much action do you think she was getting in college before she started talking to me?
BRADY
Probably not too much. I mean, you said she had a boyfriend.
KYLE
Well yeah, but… that was before the boob job.
BRADY
Is there some kind of advice you’re looking for here Kyle?
KYLE
No, not really. Just trying to get some bearings.
BRADY
Well, in any case, I’d double-bag it.
KYLE
Oh yeah, totally already planning on it.
BRADY
Well, wonderful…
KYLE
So did I tell you about what I got for tonight?
BRADY
Yeah, those headies we smoked. They were solid.
KYLE
No, I meant what else I got.
BRADY
What else did you get?
Brady gives Kyle a look.
INT. MAGGIE’S SMALL COLLEGE APARTMENT IN CONNECTICUT – LIVING ROOM - EARLY NIGHT
Brady, Kyle, Maggie and her roommate PHYLLIS WIGGINS sit around the smoke-filled living room. Phyllis is 20, average height with shorter red hair. She’s somewhat closed off and a little uptight.
MAGGIE
So that’s the game plan, we’re just gonna eat these mushrooms?
KYLE
Well yeah, unless you can think of something better to do.
MAGGIE
Well not really. I haven’t tripped since last semester, so I suppose I’m up for it.
KYLE
Awesome.
PHYLLIS
I don’t know if I’m gonna do it.
MAGGIE
Oh C’mon Phyllis, it’ll open your mind. I mean, you won’t think the same way after it.
PHYLLIS
Well yeah, I know. I’m not sure if I’m ready to be a vegetable yet.
BRADY
It’s college. You’re not cool until you’re a vegetable.
Phyllis kind of smiles and takes a breath.
PHYLLIS
Alright fine. Are we gonna eat them now?
KYLE
Sounds like as good of a time as any. Ladies, gentlemen.
Kyle hands everybody an individual plastic bag of mushrooms, as everybody eat them in quick succession. They then all sit quietly for a few seconds. “Bros” by Panda Bear plays through the next sequence of scenes.
INT. BIANCA’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – MORNING
Brady lies asleep in bed, as Bianca shakes him to wake him up.
BRADY
What is it?
BIANCA
Get up. Put some clothes on. Go home.
Brady opens his eyes, somewhat surprised.
BRADY
What is your dad coming home from work or something?
BIANCA
No, it’s nothing like that. I’ve just been thinking for the last hour or so.
BRADY
You’ve been thinking? I’m so hungover, I don’t think I can really function right now.
BIANCA
Well okay, then go throw up in the bathroom and then go home.
BRADY
Why are you frantically attempting to kick me out of your apartment like some thirteen-year-old girl?
BIANCA
Because I’ve been thinking about how my life needs to change this year, and well… I sort of wanna call you my last big mistake Brady.
BRADY
A big mistake usually involves a longer period of time.
BIANCA
Well you can adjust it however you want. All I’m saying is that this isn’t going to work out. I mean, I’ve thought about it, and I don’t think I can honestly date someone I met in rehab.
BRADY
Really? I thought people did it all the time.
BIANCA
Not normal people.
BRADY
Who wants to be normal in this day and age?
BIANCA
I think I do. I mean, I’ve been through all the shit, now I’m ready for something sort of steady.
BRADY
I’m steady.
BIANCA
You’re suicidal.
BRADY
No, I’m over that now. I mean, that was why I asked you out for New Year’s, I’m ready to start a new.
BIANCA
Well so am I, just not in the same way that you’re thinking.
BRADY
So you’re kicking your suicidal one-night-stand to the curb all of a sudden?
BIANCA
Don’t act like it’s a bigger deal than it is, and besides, you said you were fine now.
BRADY
I thought I was. It’s just that all of this is sort of unexpected.
BIANCA
Well yeah, I know, but I think I need to start being this way, just brutally honest or whatever.
BRADY
Man, well that’s fucking stupid.
BIANCA
I know. I’m sorry. I mean, it’s just one of those things, though.
BRADY
You’re giving me yet another cliché to attempt to explain why the world is shit?
BIANCA
I’m sorry, but this is how it is sometimes. The world…
BRADY
No, you’re right. Fuck it. I don’t care about any of this. I’m about to go back for my last semester of college. I think I’m officially ready to turn into one of those other guys.
Brady rolls out of bed and starts to grab and throw his clothes on.
BIANCA
What do you mean ‘those other guys?’
BRADY
The Steve’s of the world. I’m sure they’ll accept me into their ranks.
BIANCA
Oh C’mon, I don’t want you to change like that. I just don’t want to date you at this particular crossroad in my life.
BRADY
Well what about just sex, would that be cool?
BIANCA
I’ll give it some thought.
BRADY
Fantastic.
Brady, somewhat pissed, throws his shirt over his head and storms out of the apartment. Bianca rolls over to his side of the bed and closes her eyes. “Bend to Squares” by Death Cab for Cutie plays through the next sequence.
EXT. BRADY’S HOUSE – DRIVEWAY – MORNING
Brady walks over to his car, which is packed with several items for returning to college. Sheryl stands in the doorway, waving goodbye as Brady backs out of the driveway and down the road.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – LATE MORNING
Brady walks into his apartment to find it mostly trashed, beer cans and filled ashtrays everywhere. A few party guests lie on the floor, asleep. Brady shakes his head and walks out of the room.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – SECONDS LATER
Brady walks into his bedroom, turns the light on, sets some bags down and falls back on his bed.
EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS IN VERMONT – SIDEWALK – MORNING
Brady walks down the sidewalk with his headphones on, on his way to class. A few seconds pass before, he sees Candace walking in the opposite direction. She stops in front of him briefly.
CANDACE
Hey.
BRADY
Hey.
CANDACE
So how’s it going?
BRADY
I gotta get to class.
Brady walks past Candace and down the sidewalk.
INT. COLLEGE BUILDING – MORNING
Brady walks into the building to find a couple (GUY & GIRL) making-out by the stairwell. Brady gives them a quick look of disgust before walking towards the stairs.
GUY
Hey, fuck you oppressor.
Brady turns back to the guy.
BRADY
What, are we in fucking high school?
Brady walks down the stairwell and through a door.
INT. LARGE COLLEGE CLASSROOM – BACK ROW – MORNING
Brady sits in the back row of seats, waiting for class to start. A few seconds pass before VERA FOROSISKY walks in and sits down next to him. Vera is 18, pretty naïve with jet-black hair. She’s a girl who thinks she knows what she’s doing, but is really pretty clueless on most fragmented aspects of life.
VERA
Hello.
BRADY
Yeah, hey.
VERA
So I hear this class is pretty much bullshit.
BRADY
Most likely. The majority of college classes are.
VERA
Yeah, I know.
(Beat)
So what’s your major?
BRADY
What is this, freshman orientation?
VERA
No, I was just curious. Usually I just sit in classes and don’t talk to anybody, but I figured this would be the right time to start conversation, ya know, at the beginning of it all.
BRADY
I’m not much for conversation.
VERA
Why’s that?
BRADY
They eventually lead nowhere.
VERA
So you don’t think this is going anywhere.
BRADY
I know this isn’t going anywhere.
VERA
Well, okay. So did you have a rough break or something?
Brady looks over at Vera and then puts his head down on his notebook.
VERA
I guess that’s a yes.
Vera pulls out her notebook and writes something down in it as “Have a Cuppa Tea” by The Kinks plays into the next scene.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM - AFTERNOON
Brady walks into his apartment to find Kyle and Gracie sitting on the couch, playing video games.
BRADY
How are you two back here before me?
GRACIE
My second class got cancelled.
BRADY
It’s the first day.
GRACIE
I know, weird, right?
KYLE
I skipped my second one.
BRADY
Why?
KYLE
I don’t know. I didn’t really feel like going. I mean, everyone gets a certain amount of leeway for the first week or so.
BRADY
Yeah, I guess.
Brady takes his backpack off and sits down on the couch.
GRACIE
How was your day?
BRADY
Rough.
GRACIE
I bet.
KYLE
So I was just thinking, Gracie, you were in with the in-crowd in high school, how many girls had abortions that you know of?
GRACIE
Uh wow, that’s kind of random.
KYLE
I know. It’s just… Well I always pass the clinic on my walk back, and the thought occurred to me today of all days.
GRACIE
Well, I don’t really know Kyle. I mean, it’s sort of one of those confidential things.
KYLE
Yeah, but this is like four years later. I mean, you can tell us now. No one keeps a secret for this long.
GRACIE
Well man, let me think. Jenny Logan, but all of us know that one. Brittany Deemer, and uh… Well Hannah had one senior year.
BRADY
Seriously?
GRACIE
Yeah, I thought you knew.
BRADY
I didn’t, actually.
GRACIE
Well yeah, that’s why her and Ross broke up for that month.
KYLE
Well that’s fucked up.
BRADY
Definitely. It’s weird, thinking about somebody in a completely different light four years later.
GRACIE
Not really. I mean, would it have really mattered to you if you did know?
BRADY
No, I guess not.
GRACIE
Well then there ya go.
BRADY
So uh, let’s change the subject. I don’t want to think about my tainted high school crushes anymore.
KYLE
I thought you said it didn’t matter.
BRADY
It doesn’t. It’s just… Well what part of rough day don’t you understand?
KYLE
Uh okay, well some good news, Ellie and them are having a kegger on Friday.
BRADY
And why is that good news?
KYLE
Well it’s something to do.
GRACIE
Exactly.
BRADY
Candace will probably be there, and Zack will most likely drive in for it, because we never make any new fucking friends.
GRACIE
Well I thought you didn’t really care about any of this shit anymore.
KYLE
Yeah, me too. I thought you were over it because of Bianca and everything.
BRADY
Well that was just a pleasant façade. Bianca and I aren’t anything.
GRACIE
What, did she break up with you, and you’ve just been refraining from telling us until now?
BRADY
No. I wish it were like that. I could deal with a break-up. She just basically said that she didn’t want me as a part of her new life, rehab free and all.
KYLE
Well so much for the concept of a support group.
BRADY
We all can’t abide by the buddy system Kyle. Some of us need to take on bigger things.
KYLE
Well just because you don’t have some hot anorexic case backing you up anymore, doesn’t mean you can’t get drunk and shitty on Friday.
BRADY
Something tells me I won’t really be in the mood for it then.
GRACIE
Well how is that different from any other Friday night?
BRADY
It really isn’t at all.
GRACIE
So don’t worry about it then.
BRADY
I’ll try my best.
Brady stands up from the couch and walks out of the room.
GRACIE
So I thought he was better.
KYLE
Denial’s one of the steps, I think.
GRACIE
Oh, I get it now.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT
Brady lies on his bed with his cellphone to his ear. After a few seconds, Bianca picks up on the other line.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Hello?
BRADY
Hey, it’s Brady. I wasn’t sure if you deleted me from your phone so soon or…
BIANCA (V.O.)
What do you want?
BRADY
I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to talk or whatever.
BIANCA (V.O.)
You called me just to talk?
BRADY
Yeah, isn’t that what people do sometimes?
BIANCA (V.O.)
Not really. Not anymore. They text usually now.
BRADY
Well that’s fucking stupid.
BIANCA (V.O.)
You say that about everything. Now, what’s up?
BRADY
Uh actually, I called because I kind of needed a favor.
BIANCA (V.O.)
What?
BRADY
What are you doing Friday?
BIANCA (V.O.)
I don’t know. It depends. There are a lot of options at this point.
BRADY
Well okay, my friend Ellie’s sort of having this party, and I know Candace is gonna be there, probably Zack too, and I need you, to pretend or ya know, just to be there.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Fuck man, I can’t do this. I mean, I can’t make this a habit. New Year’s was one thing, we were both off the wagon, but I’ve been making new friends, being cool with a bunch of different people. I don’t think I’m quite ready to jump back into your strange world where your attempted suicide isn’t a big deal just so long as you have a girlfriend.
BRADY
Well, it seems a little weird for me to have one one week and not have one the next.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Not really. I mean, Candace knows you’re not the steady kind of boyfriend anyway, that’s why she cheated on you.
BRADY
I was beyond steady.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Well whatever. You know where I’m going with all of this. Don’t make it a habit of calling me. I mean, if you’re in town, hanging out, getting ripped, maybe then I’ll hang out, but I just can’t drive up there Brady. I can’t be that person.
BRADY
Well fuck… You’re a real bummer Bianca, you know that?
BIANCA (V.O.)
You just don’t wanna admit that I’m perfect and plaguing your every thought.
BRADY
You’re not perfect. I just figured you’d be available, but whatever, I have four more days. I’ll find someone else.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Okay, you have fun with that.
BRADY
Oh, don’t worry, I will.
BIANCA (V.O.)
So, are you going to hang up or…?
BRADY
You didn’t delete me from your phone, did you?
BIANCA (V.O.)
Not yet, but I’m deeply considering such an option at this point.
BRADY
Well, so am I.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Well okay Brady.
BRADY
Okay, later.
Brady hangs up the phone and takes a breath. “Rats” by Sonic Youth plays into the next scene.
INT. ELLIE’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – FRIDAY NIGHT
Brady stands next to Vera in a crowded living room, both with beers in hand. Kyle, Gracie, Zack and Candace are all at the party as well.
VERA
So, are these people always this anti-social?
BRADY
What do you mean?
VERA
I mean, no conversations are really starting or anything.
BRADY
Oh, just you wait.
Zack and Candace walk over in front of Brady and Vera.
ZACK
Hey, what’s up man?
BRADY
Nothing, how’s it going?
ZACK
Uh, good, I guess.
BRADY
Well, cool.
VERA
Hi, I’m Vera, by the way.
BRADY
Oh yeah, uh guys, this is Vera. Vera, this is Candace and Zack.
ZACK
Hey.
CANDACE
Hello, nice to meet you.
VERA
You too.
ZACK
Well uh, I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette.
VERA
Ya know, I was gonna go do that too.
ZACK
Well, cool. I guess we’ll head outside then. Are you coming Candace or…?
CANDACE
Maybe, I’ll be out in a bit.
ZACK
Alright, cool.
(To Vera)
So what’s your major?
VERA
Undeclared.
ZACK
Nice. Indecision is good.
Zack and Vera walk out the front door as Brady and Candace stand quiet for a few seconds.
BRADY
Man, he’s getting good at that.
CANDACE
And you still joke about everything like it’s not a big deal.
BRADY
It isn’t a big deal. They’re just smoking cigarettes.
CANDACE
I didn’t mean that. I mean, this, us being here. It’s… weird, isn’t it?
BRADY
Sort of. I mean, I’m not sure where you’re going with all of this.
CANDACE
Yeah, I guess I don’t really know either.
(Beat)
So can I ask you something?
BRADY
Sure.
CANDACE
What happened to Bianca?
BRADY
Oh uh, ya know, that one didn’t really work out, but I found Vera in my Comm Media class, so I think I’ll be okay.
CANDACE
Is she a freshman?
BRADY
Why yes she is.
CANDACE
So what’s the deal now? You’re just picking up random girls from your classes and uh… Well rehab, I guess?
BRADY
Wow, you’re starting to sound like the jealous ex-girlfriend right now or something. What’s the deal there Candace?
CANDACE
I’m not jealous. I’m just wondering what you’re doing. I mean, this doesn’t seem like you.
BRADY
We don’t even know each other really. I mean, maybe I’ve been this way for awhile bow.
CANDACE
Whatever. There’s no point in making a scene out of this.
BRADY
Who’s making a scene? I…
Kyle walks over interrupting Brady.
KYLE
What’s up motha fucka?
BRADY
Nothing. What’s up with you?
KYLE
Nada. I just did a few shots. I’m gonna go from drunk to sloshed in about ten minutes or so.
CANDACE
Well that’s admirable Kyle.
KYLE
You know it. Where’s your dick of a boyfriend?
CANDACE
Outside with… what’s her name again Brady?
BRADY
Vera.
CANDACE
Oh yeah, that’s right. Man, I just remembered how bad I have to piss. I’ll be right back.
Candace walks off as Brady just shakes his head.
BRADY
Well looks like she’s blinking first.
KYLE
You gotta let that one go man. She’s confused enough as it is.
BRADY
What do you mean?
KYLE
Well, mostly everyone knows you’re a suicide case now.
BRADY
What are you talking about?
KYLE
I just had a colossal conversation with Ellie and Molly about whether or not you were okay.
BRADY
Did it sound like a pity party, or like “man he’s such a weirdo I kind of wanna fuck him now”?
KYLE
They think you’re unstable in a bad way to the point where they’re gonna probably steer clear for a little while.
BRADY
Well goddamnit. Looks like I’m gonna have to settle on Vera tonight.
KYLE
If Zack isn’t out there telling her right now?
BRADY
He wouldn’t do that to me. I mean, he may steal my girlfriend to the point where I’m suicidal, but he won’t tell my new one-night-stand that I’m a little fucked up.
KYLE
Yeah, I guess you’re right.
BRADY
But uh, do you think Candace told everyone here, like Molly and Ellie?
KYLE
Of course she fucking did. I mean, it’s all about her. Who wouldn’t tell that story? I mean, I would kill to have two chicks fighting over me to the point of suicide. That’d be bad ass.
BRADY
This is just fucked up. Why would she tell them?
KYLE
Because it’s shitty gossip, people love it. I mean, remember when Gracie gave Stan Gallucci road head, and he hit a speed bump and she ended up throwing up in his lap?
BRADY
Uh yeah, but… I mean, it’s not like I was in the backseat or something.
KYLE
No, I know, but what I’m saying is that she got over that pretty quickly. You’ll get over the fact that everyone knows you’re a suicide case. It’s not too difficult really.
BRADY
Ya know, I’m not really a suicide case anymore, though. I’m one of those other guys.
KYLE
Those guys that just fuck around a lot?
BRADY
Yeah, exactly.
KYLE
Well do you think you’re gonna get any from what’s her name tonight?
BRADY
Yeah, I’d say Vera has about an eighty-percent chance of putting out.
KYLE
Well that’s good. What if the other twenty happens?
BRADY
Then I’ll improvise.
Brady hits his beer off of Kyle’s and takes a sip. Kyle follows suit.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT
Brady and Vera lie down next to each other, Brady’s hand underneath the covers, moving back and forth while Vera gets off.
VERA
Keep going. Keep going. Faster. No, that’s too fast. Slow the fuck down. There ya go. That’s good. Yes, yes, yes!
Vera has an orgasm before pushing Brady’s hand away and rolling over. She starts to lightly sob as Brady just lies there.
BRADY
Uh shit… What’s the matter?
VERA
Nothing. I’m fine. Just go to sleep.
BRADY
I thought we were just getting warmed up.
Vera turns and looks at Brady.
VERA
No, it’s not like that Brady.
BRADY
So you just used my hand then?
VERA
Oh, don’t make it sound so shallow. Your hand’s a big deal.
Vera rolls over and shuts her eyes. Brady just lies there for a few seconds before rolling over in the opposite direction. “Returning to the Fold” by The Thermals plays through the next sequence.
INT. LARGE COLLEGE CLASSROOM – BACK ROW – MORNING
Brady sits in the back row, waiting for class to start as Vera walks in and sits down a row ahead of him. She starts talking to the guy sitting next to her.
EXT. COLLEGE CAMPUS – SIDEWALK – DAY, A FEW WEEKS LATER
Brady walks down the sidewalk with his headphones on. A few seconds pass before Candace catches up behind him and taps him on the shoulder. Brady turns around, taking his headphones.
CANDACE
Hey, uh wow, you don’t ever slow the fuck down, do you?
BRADY
No, I uh… Didn’t know I had to.
CANDACE
Listen uh… Are you coming to my birthday party on Saturday?
BRADY
Oh uh, I didn’t know you were having one.
CANDACE
Well I am, and we haven’t hung out for awhile, so you need to come.
BRADY
Uh yeah, well maybe, I don’t know. For some reason I think there might be something going on that day.
CANDACE
You’re full of shit. There’s never anything going on in your life.
BRADY
Yeah, well maybe I’ll find something.
CANDACE
C’mon, don’t be a dick. You can bring Vera or whoever. I don’t care.
BRADY
Vera and I are having some problems. Uh man, I gotta get to class, so I’ll probably see you on Saturday. It just really depends is all.
CANDACE
Well okay, see ya Brady.
Brady walks off down the sidewalk.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – BEDROOM – NIGHT
Brady stands in the middle of his room, waiting for Bianca to pick up on the other line. A few seconds pass before her voicemail picks up.
BIANCA (V.O.)
Hey this is Bianca, leave a message, do your thing, whatever.
Her voicemail beeps.
BRADY
Uh hey Bianca, this is Brady. Man, I feel like a shit asking you this, but I think I’m more or less out of options here. Candace’s birthday’s on Saturday and I need an excuse to see you. So, I guess call me back when you get this. Bye.
Brady closes his phone and sighs. “Chewin the Apple of Your Eye” by The Flaming Lips plays into the next scene.
INT. BRADY’S APARTMENT – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Kyle and Gracie sit on the couch, smoking a joint. Brady walks in and sits down on the couch next to them, jumping in on the rotation.
BRADY
Well, I’m completely fucked.
GRACIE
Is there something we don’t know about here Brady?
BRADY
Candace’s party. I need a date for it, and I don’t see once coming up.
GRACIE
Ya know, this whole thing where you jut decide to take some random girl to whatever party you know she’s gonna be at, is a little weird.
BRADY
Do you have any other suggestions for how I should handle things Gracie?
KYLE
I think you should probably just kill yourself.
BRADY
Fuck off.
KYLE
I’m sorry. I just don’t see what the big deal is. You can always meet somebody there. I mean, I’m sure there’ll be tons of easy girls who aren’t worth it there.
BRADY
Yeah, but that’s different. I need to show up with someone she’s gonna get jealous over.
GRACIE
You’re beyond delusional at this point Brady.
BRADY
No, I’m not. You just don’t get it. It’s all a matter of how you play your cards.
GRACIE
Well why don’t you just not go. I mean, that’s the best advice I can give you.
BRADY
Well are you guys gonna go.
GRACIE
Most likely.
KYLE
It really all depends.
BRADY
Why, what else is going on?
KYLE
I was thinking about going to Connecticut for the weekend.
BRADY
Why, what’s there?
KYLE
Do you remember Maggie Horan?
BRADY
Uh yeah, I could’ve had sex with her in high school, now that I recall.
KYLE
Really? When was that?
BRADY
Night of the big Ferris household blast, she hit on me right after Roger Bowers pissed on the rug.
KYLE
Well why the fuck didn’t you?
BRADY
Hannah, remember?
KYLE
Oh yeah. Well in retrospect Brady, would you have done it if you had known what was going on?
BRADY
I don’t fucking know. The real question is why are you all of a sudden talking to Maggie Horan?
KYLE
I don’t know. She I.M.ed me one day, started babbling on about how she broke up with her boyfriend. I mostly just looked up porn for the duration of the conversation.
GRACIE
It’s sad that I live in this apartment.
BRADY
You have no idea.
KYLE
Anyway, if I drive out there to see her, do you wanna come with?
BRADY
What the fuck am I gonna do?
KYLE
I don’t know. She has a roommate, I’m sure we can probably find some good drugs to take. We’ll make a weekend out of it.
BRADY
Ya know, there are worse ideas.
GRACIE
You can’t be serious. It’s gonna turn to shit for you Brady. I mean, don’t you see where this inclination is going?
BRADY
Sort of, but I’m not sure if it’s worse than staying here.
KYLE
It definitely isn’t. I mean, do you honestly wanna deal with Candace and all her stupid drunken birthday crap on Saturday?
BRADY
Not really.
KYLE
So there ya go. We’re taking a quaint little road trip.
GRACIE
And you guys are just gonna ditch me here, to fend for myself?
KYLE
Do you honestly wanna drive three hours away to watch us have sex with naïve girls?
GRACIE
I guess not.
BRADY
So I haven’t even seen Maggie since we graduated. Did she get considerably hotter?
GRACIE
Probably just sluttier.
KYLE
Actually, she looks pretty good in facebook pictures. I think she got a boob job.
BRADY
Really?
KYLE
Oh yeah, I mean those suckers look homemade, I don’t think they’re a product of hormones.
BRADY
Well, I guess that’s good to know.
GRACIE
I really need to meet some new people.
KYLE
Yeah, we know Gracie. It’s about time you start bringing hot girls back to the apartment, for, ya know, whatever may occur, so we don’t have to drive to Connecticut for such things.
GRACIE
You’re one of the main reasons I never think to do that Kyle.
BRADY
Well what about for me?
GRACIE
You have enough social issues already Brady.
BRADY
Well alright, we’re definitely leaving this weekend.
KYLE
Fuckin’ A right.
“Smith & Jones Forever” by Silver Jews plays into the next scene.
INT. KYLE’S CAR – FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Kyle drives with Brady sitting up front, both pretty chill.
KYLE
So why didn’t you have sex with Maggie when you had the chance?
BRADY
Because I was holding out for Hannah, remember?
KYLE
Yeah, but I mean, after that. You found out about Zack and her before Maggie left the party. Ya still could’ve slept with her.
BRADY
Well I guess I sort of lost my motivation to try after that, plus my bed had already been used.
KYLE
Well do you think it’s weird at all that we’re driving out there so I can have sex with her?
BRADY
No, not really. I mean, this is where you’re at in your life right now.
KYLE
So are you saying I’m four years behind you?
BRADY
No man, not at all. I mean, she got a boob job and she’s talking to you online. That’s something. I mean, I don’t think I can ever see myself getting a girl with silicon enhancements. They’re just out of my league, ya know?
KYLE
Ya know, it is sort of horrible that we’re here right now, isn’t it?
BRADY
No man, this is fun. I mean, I’m pretty high on my way to somewhere different with no real expectations for the night. If anything, this is what I need.
KYLE
Well okay, cool. Glad we’re on the same page.
BRADY
Yeah, well we definitely are.
KYLE
Cool.
(Beat)
So if Maggie slept with all those guys in high school and then got a boob job like a year ago, how much action do you think she was getting in college before she started talking to me?
BRADY
Probably not too much. I mean, you said she had a boyfriend.
KYLE
Well yeah, but… that was before the boob job.
BRADY
Is there some kind of advice you’re looking for here Kyle?
KYLE
No, not really. Just trying to get some bearings.
BRADY
Well, in any case, I’d double-bag it.
KYLE
Oh yeah, totally already planning on it.
BRADY
Well, wonderful…
KYLE
So did I tell you about what I got for tonight?
BRADY
Yeah, those headies we smoked. They were solid.
KYLE
No, I meant what else I got.
BRADY
What else did you get?
Brady gives Kyle a look.
INT. MAGGIE’S SMALL COLLEGE APARTMENT IN CONNECTICUT – LIVING ROOM - EARLY NIGHT
Brady, Kyle, Maggie and her roommate PHYLLIS WIGGINS sit around the smoke-filled living room. Phyllis is 20, average height with shorter red hair. She’s somewhat closed off and a little uptight.
MAGGIE
So that’s the game plan, we’re just gonna eat these mushrooms?
KYLE
Well yeah, unless you can think of something better to do.
MAGGIE
Well not really. I haven’t tripped since last semester, so I suppose I’m up for it.
KYLE
Awesome.
PHYLLIS
I don’t know if I’m gonna do it.
MAGGIE
Oh C’mon Phyllis, it’ll open your mind. I mean, you won’t think the same way after it.
PHYLLIS
Well yeah, I know. I’m not sure if I’m ready to be a vegetable yet.
BRADY
It’s college. You’re not cool until you’re a vegetable.
Phyllis kind of smiles and takes a breath.
PHYLLIS
Alright fine. Are we gonna eat them now?
KYLE
Sounds like as good of a time as any. Ladies, gentlemen.
Kyle hands everybody an individual plastic bag of mushrooms, as everybody eat them in quick succession. They then all sit quietly for a few seconds. “Bros” by Panda Bear plays through the next sequence of scenes.
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