Paul has come to Prof. Groves’ office to go over the first draft of
GROVES: Was this bacchanal a celebration or a condolence?
PAUL: Celebration pretty much.
GROVES: Well that’s nice.
PAUL: I became an officially professional writer yesterday.
GROVES: You did?
PAUL: Which is to say: Money for words.
GROVES: What’d you write?
(Paul sits up; scratches, blasé.)
PAUL: It was like a contest kinda.
PAUL: Kinda. Not a big thing really. You never heard of it.
GROVES: Well, congratulations, whatever it is.
(Paul gets back on his feet, crosses to the bookshelf. While checking out titles:)
PAUL: So anyway, I figured I’d do what all great writers do. Get plastered.
GROVES: Is that what all great writers do, Paul?
PAUL: Sure seems that way. Faulkner, Fitzgerald, Lewis, O’Neill… They were all boozers.
GROVES: Y’know, none of them ever
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