_Brynne’s office. Rory is poised in her...

Brynne’s office. Rory is poised in her chair, alone. He’s holding his phone up, recording a memo into it:

Sunday, March twenty-four. And it seems... to all be nearing the end here, Rory.

I’m here. In your office. You weren’t around, and I really needed to talk, so I’m just going to just tell you... what I’m trying to say.

You know when you need someone specific, to help you out and listen to you because you’re upset— about someone, but the person your upset with is that person you need to talk to? It’s like that. I need you right now. And you’re not here.

But now I guess I can just talk.

And there’s something that’s never been said. You know? Something you may have seen, but it’s never said. It’s under the surface.

And I just wanted to tell you... to finally, say it.

It’s nihilism. Right? That’s where our souls touch. I know it sounds dumb, but that’s—what it is. And I don’t think I’ve given myself enough time— I don't think I keep away from the phone long enough to explain that sort of thing. So I’ll do it now.

I remember you saying to me once, out in the yard, that all the houses, past that line of trees, they look like a film set. Like they’re on a 2d plate, in a studio. And at worst, that’s what the nihilism feels like, right? That everything happening to me, that everything happening to everyone, is 2d like that. If that makes any sense.

He looks towards the city. He puts his feet up on the window.

Like, I bought some coke last night. That’s what I ended up doing. To try to feel better. And, you know, that awful feeling when the drugs start to wear off? Those feelings that I had, the ideas that went through my mind, like...

There is no reason not to just f#cking—do it. Right? It’s 2d.

Sure, people would be sad. It would be sad... a sad state of affairs, that that is how it turned out... All the things in the future that I could be missing—who knows whats going to happen. But. If we’re going to be this ...submissive, to our own bodily chemistry, why... are we even here?

It’s easier to ask now, with this sh#t you’re pulling. Now it’s like... you enter or I exit.

Pause. Maybe he laughs.

He knocks on the window, testing it’s strength.

Isn’t it more important that our souls sing out? That something within us is actually real? That fate doesn’t exist and that we have a will upon things?

I mean, are we just going through the motions right now? Are we really here? Are you really there, on the inside?

And if so, who’s talking right now? Who are you? Where did you come from? What do you want? Why don’t you just come through the door?

What do I want that’s not just a bunch of awful things, given to me? Ideas I was cursed with? Fame, power, sex, companionship. Those all sound like escapes to me. To make life a little more, bearable.

Like your love for me. Your hatred at me. That’s not you

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