Sara & Vaughn: On Terrorism.

Sara and Vaughn hover over a coffee table, just finishing a line of coke.

Sara: Don't! Don't do it!

Vaughn: Hey do you remember last night when you were racist.

Sara: I'm still racist.

Vaughn: You are?

Sara: No. It's not racism Vaughn.

Vaughn: It's not what is it?

Sara: It's Self Pres... Self Preservation.

Vaughn: It is? Why?

Sara: 'Cause I want this country to survive.

Vaughn: And It's not gonna survive if it becomes ethnic? Is that what you mean? And cultured?

Sara: Point is. I. Don't. Like. Terrorists.

Vaughn: Well thats...You were making fun of a Puerto Rican man, he's not terrorist.

Sara: I don't like Mexicans Vaughn.

Vaughn: He's Puerto Rican, he's not Mexican.

Sara: I don't like people who can't speak my language... properly.

Vaughn: And that's...

Sara: I don't like people... who come to this country and try to bring their culture over here, 'cause I would never go to their country and try to bring my culture.

Vaughn:(Laughs).

Sara: Motormouth... MOTOR... (Laughs and screams).

End.

A Gallery. Scene 1.

A Gallery.

Cassie Hansen. A 34 year old married woman. She's a knock out, always dressed as if she's out for a night on the town. Long legs, bright eyes and a face which hardly conceals her intelligence.

Lt. Forge. A 48 year old man. He's distinguished. Salt and pepper hair, chiseled jaw. He's made a good living for himself as owner of the gallery. He knows fine art, and has had his share of even finer woman. He could charm the spots off a Leopard.

Scene 1.

Cassie admires a larger than life painting. Lt. Forge stands behind her, the same look of longing in his eyes - but for her, not the painting.

Cassie: How much for the De'vangioni?

Lt. Forge: A fine choice. Have you any De'vans of your own?

Cassie: I bought an original while traveling through Moscow.

Lt. Forge: Ah. A Russian De'vangioni. Very rare.

Cassie: I'm very pleased with it. How much is this one? It has such fine lines.

Lt. Forge: Of course it does. You know your art. You have a fine eye.

Cassie: It's rather important that we speak of the cost.

Lt. Forge: The cost of this De'vangioni... I'd like to think it's worth something other than money. Look at it. It screams, "From the Heart!"

Cassie: Other than money?

Lt. Forge: Yes. You see, this De'Vangioni isn't the only object present with fine lines, Ms..?.

Cassie: Ms. Hansen. Cassie Hansen. (She offers her hand)

Lt. Forge: (He takes it, examines it, kisses it) Ms. Hansen, may I trouble you to follow me into my office. We can discuss this matter further.

Cassie: I'm not opposed to a discussion, however, I am a lady.

Lt. Forge: And I a Man. A Man of business, Ms. Hansen. Please - Follow me.

He leads her by the hand towards the back of the Gallery, she follows, her high heels claking on the concrete floor...

The Kid

The Kid is twelve years old. The Kid solves mysteries. He's got a sidekick and a skateboard. You'd be hard pressed to discover his birth name, he goes by "The Kid". He wears a tiny little sport coat and brown tweed pants. He's got freckles sprinkled across the cheeks and carries around a small black back pack. There's always an antiquated tape recorder, the size of a twinkie, in his palm.

It's the last day of school - the last day of his 6th grade year. He wakes up, wipes the sleep from his eyes, and rises from his bunk bed. He sleeps on the bottom, the top is always empty...

Listen.

I am tired of working in this office. I want to leave. I have a life outside this office, but it doesn't let me go and experience it - save for a few hours a day. I have no money, even though I am here all day and night long. Help. Help. I am being held captive by this monster of a job. Why won't they let me go? They keep me here with no food (except for powdered donuts and expired string cheese), no hope and very little knowledge of the outside world. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I have a girl to get to. She needs care. She is as tender as a Mel's Diner Pot Roast Sandwich. Let me go and be with her. Please?

Tuesday August 8, 2006

- I wake up. Move a car, so as to avoid towing. Take a shower. Make my way to the office.

- After arriving at the bungalow, I ReEnter a few misEntered Ebay listings for my boss. Text the cutie. Over and Over. Send a few Snakes On A Plane Samuel Jackson Calls.

- I Book a bunch of contestants for the show, but soon I have to...

- Head to the bank to deposit a check, which covers some overdraft fees.

- For Lunch: Spicy Tuna and Spicy Salmon Sushi and A Tandoori Chicken Salad from the commissary. Half the salad is saved for later.

- Next I'm asked to convert some Quicktimes into a DVD. So I convert some Quicktimes into a DVD.

- I'm back on the phone booking more contestants, but not before having an impromptu baby shower for a co-worker. There is chocolate cake and baby diapers. Yay!

- While working in a spreadsheet, I listen to some
Gish and
Bob.

- After awhile I decide to quickly make a Wal.Paper Daily Update. And here we are. Right. Now.