Original subtitles

Rachel?

Yeah, Michael.

Yeah, it's really me. So, how are you?

Bored.

Bored out of my fucking mind.

I can't believe.

What are you doing these days?

Oh, same old thing, politics aunt.

Actually, there's this big summer anniversary rally down there this

weekend. Leigh and I were thinking of maybe... I know it's not much notice.

Are you kidding?

I have a spare room now. Yes, come.

Cool. And there's someone else here who wants to talk to you.

Michael?

Yeah, how are you?

Sarah?

Yeah. What's going on?

Absolutely nothing.

What are you... Last I heard, you were in New York.

Was. But I'm moving back out here again.

I have no fucking idea where.

So you're coming down then too, right?

No.

Of course. I can't wait to see you.

Plus, I'm bringing along friends.

I'm getting married, Michael.

No shit.

Why don't you ever write and fill me in on these insignificant little events in

your life?

It's you and Peter, finally.

No, Greg.

You'll meet him.

Friday, I think.

Here, Greg has to be here.

Yeah, Michael.

Great. I can't wait.

See you then.

Drive careful.

I was sure you'd crashed and were dead on the highway.

Have I ever been on time for anything?

Leah, has your hair gotten spikier or am I just getting more conservative in my

old age?

Huh?

Well, it is hip to be square nowadays.

Sarah, you look great.

Thanks. You look like shit.

Michael, this is Greg.

Greg, Michael.

The mystery fiancé.

You a musician, too? No, I... You know I never mess with my own car.

I'm an odd student.

Sort of.

I'm hungry.

Let's eat.

Pagan clubs?

They all suck.

Movies? Sorry, films?

The cinema is dead.

Isn't Cosby on?

There's always trivial pursuits.

I have a great idea.

Let's sit around and reminisce about the good old days.

Saved. The male stripper's finally here.

What the fuck are you-

Glad to see me.

Alex.

I need a place to stay, just for a couple days. No.

No way.

Come on, Michael.

No, Alex.

six months.

You miss me?

I can't fucking believe you. Coming back here after...

Michael.

I need your help.

Michael, what... Hi, Alex.

Hi, Rachel.

What do you want from Michael now?

Come on.

We're going to do MDA and go roller skating.

Call the fucking paramedics. I'm dying.

Shit. What happened to Sharon and Greg?

I think they're both there watching the sidewalk grow.

You guys always eat or what?

At least I don't... What do you want from me? A fucking blood test?

Hey, get around.

Yeah.

Just don't get it, okay?

I couldn't take losing you, too.

I care, Alex.

No matter how much I hate you sometimes.

Michael?

Everything alright?

I knew this girl, Linda.

She wrote a story about laundromats. What happens in between rinse cycles.

How isolated everyone is, sorting through their underwear, pretending

nobody else is around.

Totally lost track of her, Linda.

Wonder what she's doing now.

So...

moving back to LA.

I don't know.

Anything. I still have a place wherever I go.

My whole fucking life is a wreck.

I mean, look at me.

Don't I look so much older?

And fat.

Tell me, Michael, I've gained so much weight.

If you were any thinner, you'd disappear.

Sometimes I wish I could eat some fat.

Dematerialize. Banish.

I haven't got a clue as to where I'm heading.

I'm just wandering around like a blind ballerina in a minefield.

Everyone I know is just barely surviving in this age of prosperity.

I feel like I'm still looking for it.

Desperately looking for it. Only I have no fucking idea what it is anymore.

You getting another band together?

As always.

How about you?

Whatever happened with your film?

What film?

I'm junking it.

It just suddenly struck me how vain and ridiculous it was.

I'm embarrassed to even talk about it.

At least you're not too hard on yourself.

So, what's with Greg?

Is it love?

Good facts.

I don't know.

He puts up with me.

Sounds like one of those dangerous relationship things to me.

Whatever you want to call it, it exists.

For the time being, at least.

I've run out of things to say to you.

What do we have left to talk about?

Fuck talking.

Let's make love again.

Call it fucking at least when that's what it is.

Stop talking like fuck.

What do you want?

I want you to break up with me because I'm too insecure to do it for myself.

But I love you, Rachel.

I don't want to have to rely on anyone.

Sometimes I feel so small.

Like I'm barely here at all.

I want to go up there.

Or out there.

Where would we be without all this

adolescent anger?

consider it transcendental depression.

I've gotten used to it.

I don't know how to be any other way.

I've been feeling this weird complacency lately.

Like, I have no future.

I have no past.

I just have a presence that's really, really fucked up.

You can see it from the outside.

Get out of your own head.

I'm already out of my mind.

And out of cigarettes too.

What are you doing out here?

Hi.

Nothing. You okay?

I feel like putting my head through a plate glass window.

Besides that, though, I'm fine.

It's lay on me.

The usual.

You want to talk about it?

Okay, I'm done.

I don't think we met formally.

Great. Fair.

Uh, Michael.

Well, nice meeting you.

Sometimes I think I'm really losing it.

I mean, sitting here staring at these four walls and I can feel myself going

mad.

We're all just hanging by a thread.

It's tough being the new lost generation.

Pepsi doesn't even want us anymore.

Mid-decade dropouts aerobicizing towards Armageddon.

Shit.

Give her a joint and she turns into Susan Sontag.

Think we're ever going to grow up?

Why? It just means getting older and dying.

Listen to this nihilistic despair.

So, do Michael and I get to throw your bridal shower?

Fuck off.

Marriage, house, kids, oblivion.

The American dream come true.

It's crazy.

I can't even conceive of what I'll be doing tomorrow.

You think that has anything to do with being born under the shadow of the A

-bomb?

I think it comes more from being hopelessly neurotic.

I'm really glad you're here.

I needed the company.

I'm glad you're back.

I'm glad I wasn't crawling distance of bed.

It's been a long night.

I tried an hour ago and nobody bothered to tell me.

Coming?

I want to finish this cigarette. I don't know, I feel edgy.

I insist on staying up with you, but I'm not going to be able to maintain

verticality here much longer.

I'm going to sleep, both of you.

Did you sleep?

Not much.

What's the matter?

Time in a month, huh?

I don't remember inviting you to stay over.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.

I don't know why I have to make everything so hard.

You don't have to fuck for room and board anymore, okay, Alex?

You're a shithead.

Couldn't sleep.

Too much sex?

Not getting enough?

Not wanting any.

Any food around here?

Doubt it.

Watch out for anything green or furry.

Don't you have any sausage or anything?

I'm about to start my period. I think I need the animal protein.

Haven't you heard meat is murder?

I found some ham.

I'm a mess.

Your bladder's exploding out here.

Hold on to your over-anxious dick.

If I squeeze it any tighter, it'll turn blue and fall off.

Where the fuck are you going?

To run, clear my head.

Try a little 45.

Come on.

You know the guy who wrote all those running books dropped dead of a heart

attack at 40?

Inject immediately.

You'll have to scratch and clot. I beat you to the pot.

Oh, that's a decaf, by the way. Fuck you.

No question. My days of recreational sex and drugs are over.

Mine are so far gone, I forgot what they were like.

It's a long lost youth.

So, what real amended activities are on the agenda for today?

the cheery tour guide.

It's terrifying, I know, but Greg wants to do the Southern California thing and

go to the beach.

No.

Leia wants to do something as obnoxious and touristy. Shop Melrose for

overpriced souvenirs for her poser friends back home.

Well, could be Universal Studios and Knott's Berry Farm.

Don't give him any ideas.

I am hungry.

Can you do anything besides eat piss and wine?

Yes.

Why don't we all grab breakfast on Melrose?

You and Leia can stay and shop while we head out to the beach.

Like Frankie and Annette. Rad, man.

Greg will be running for, like, hours.

You guys go on ahead, though, and by the time you get back...

I want to start a revolution.

Where'd that come from?

I'm serious.

That'll wake people up. Make them sing.

No one questions anything.

No one ever asks why.

Why am I sitting here watching this shit spilling out of the TV?

Why are my tax dollars going to slaughter babies in Central America?

Why is the president such a fucking moronic asshole?

Questioning is only the first step.

Action is what's really essential.

You guys are like the Cicaden and Thomas, only without the aerobics.

Imagine what would happen if every man, woman, and child spent like an hour a

day, just one hour, while stuck in traffic, doing the dishes, or going

through the same old in-and-out routine as that.

Just... Thinking about how fucked up society is and how it could be improved.

Well, that'd sure make the population a little unhappier.

Discontent is the catalyst for change.

Where do you get all these slogans from?

Webster's Dogma Phrasebook?

People don't give a shit, and they like not giving a shit.

It's the dogma in your dogma world.

So what's your alternative, Michael?

Sit back and watch as it all goes straight to hell?

That's a pretty grim podcast.

There you go.

I'm sorry, but I'd much rather spray paint a few pounds of seedy and march in

a room of rattles than do nothing.

At least I'll sleep better at night.

Well, there's always my favorite political act.

Vernon Bruce Springsteen album.

What if we woke up one morning and the sky was bright?

I bet he'd applaud.

That'd be wild.

Where's Sarah?

Going for a walk.

How introspective.

You alright?

I don't know.

I asked.

She doesn't want to talk about it.

Did you ever hear a bite off?

Fuck off, Alec.

She's just going through a lot of shit right now.

You know, we feel like it's not my fault.

Come on.

No. Leia, I'm bored with everything.

Every single day we wake up together, fuck the same way, eat the same thing

for breakfast.

All right, let's go get fuzz and yogurt. You don't listen to a thing I say.

What flavor do you want? I think we should see other people.

I'm getting carob almonds.

I can't stand being a couple anymore.

No, smoke a fudge. And go fuck yourself. I'm taking the bus back.

Sure are a lot of cops around.

Welcome to Nazi America.

Shit. The other day, I wake up to find the parking fascists have immobilized my

car for a bunch of tickets I can't afford to pay.

So I go to call them to beg for mercy, and GD's fucked up my bill and

disconnected my phone.

I run across the street to use the payphone. This butt-ugly stormtrooper

pig gives me a fucking ticket for jaywalking.

Finally, I get to the phone. It's my last quarter.

So what'd you do?

I went back to bed.

God, I hate cops.

Hi. Hey.

How was the beach?

Cold.

No rest?

Hellish. Where's Leah?

What's wrong?

Headache. Me too.

No Tylenol. I'm taking a shower.

I'm gonna stick my head in the oven.

You guys are as much fun as a Republican convention.

Who else am I going to torment?

It sucked my dong.

Not enough rudders, shithead.

Tried to kiss my labia.

How about licking my shaft?

Trying to make me lose my lunch?

What is this?

The Anhui Hotel.

We're just laying out our career strategy.

And working on upgrading our resume.

Where's Greg?

I think he went out to read poetry under a tree or something.

Not funny, Leah.

You thought so.

He probably cried when John Belushi died, too.

Let's see. I'm taking a nap.

That's the best idea I've heard all day.

Michael?

I'm lost.

Sarah said you make films.

I used to.

What happened?

I found out I was allergic to bullshit.

So what do you do?

Eat.

Like? Art?

Right.

I don't know.

I feel so... adrift.

My Karen's the only anchor in my life, and she has no idea what's going on.

Who does?

We're all just biding time until we die.

Has anybody ever accused you of being a little on the gloomy side?

Actually, I was going to ask this friend of mine about that, but he committed

suicide before I had the chance.

Ever wonder what happened to kill off all these guys?

I'm so full of feeling, I think sometimes I'm going to explode.

I can't write, paint, play music. I have no outlet for all this pent-up emotion.

Go out and kick over garbage cans or something.

I mean, I feel lucky. I could be too sick of it all to want to bother.

I just don't know what to do with my life.

Oh, fuck.

These sensitive guys want to play cards or have an angst jerk-off session.

I feel left out, lacking the proper equipment.

Oh, would I run on the bathroom wall?

I'd rather be dead than trendy or boring. I'm

out. I need to breathe some air that's not nail-dominated.

I still don't know what to do with my life.

Everything. From sex with Leia to the international political scene.

It's all such utter chaos.

I feel so anxious about the future, filled with a sinking dread.

Nauseous. Yeah.

Nothing makes sense. Nothing's working out.

I mean, whatever happened.

We used to be so directed. We had goals. We knew what the hell we wanted to do.

We left college.

I want to go away, far, far away, and never be heard from again.

Weren't you going to go to El Salvador or something?

Nicaragua. It fell through, like every other plan I've ever made.

Maybe you ought to just do it.

Take off and leave it all behind.

What's there to lose?

You look like an ad for one of those 976 porn lines.

I'll leave you two to your whatever.

What you watching?

I'm not into cock, okay?

What are you doing?

Nothing. Can I see?

If you have to.

Your love is a baseball bat rammed down my throat, sulfuric acid

devouring my eyes.

I'm screaming.

I'm screaming.

Oh, another Serby Top 40 ballad I see.

Socks.

I can't marry Greg.

It's insane.

It's not his fault.

He's perfect.

It's me.

What?

I'm sorry. It just reminds me of a really, really lame bar joke.

The perfect lover is somebody who can fuck till 4 in the morning and then turn

into a pizza.

That's awful.

Yeah, well, I thought it was kind of lame.

Well, what do we do?

Anything anybody wants.

Trendy, pretentious art openings.

Trendy, pretentious clubs.

Trendy, pretentious poetry readings.

Lucky thing, L.A. is such a cultural mecca.

Rather than make a compromise decision that pleases no one, I say we split up.

Like there's this radical feminist recital I heard about that I want to

see.

That sounds like a blast.

Whatever.

Makes no difference.

You know?

Another wacky, fun-filled night in the modern world.

This is what it's all about. Shit on the rap.

Motherfucking rap. Rap music.

Crap on the floor, man. Shit.

Crap. Rap is rap. I'm not crap.

It's all a fucking crap.

Crap is crap.

Crap is crap.

Motherfucking rap music. Rap music sucks.

Motherfucking rap music makes me want to throw up.

I was just thinking about when I was a kid, like 13, 14.

My mom used to read these really trashy suburban porn novels.

Harold Robbins, Judith Krantz. And after school, when no

one was around, I used to sneak into my parents' room.

I'd skim through them, looking for the dirty parts.

And then go into the solarium bathroom.

It was all sunny and warm, decorated golden yellow.

And I used to get up right there on the P1 stick tile floor.

I did this, like, all the time.

Sometimes, like, three times a day.

Yeah, it was horny little shit.

You know I fell in love with boyfriends. We'd dossiers on all of them. The ones

you lived with?

Wendy and I were together for a couple of months in Athens.

Greece? Georgia.

It was no big deal. Basically a physical thing.

It was probably the best fuck I ever had.

He had a really huge dick.

Come on, you know we have good sex.

Don't make this into a big male ego thing.

Sorry. It comes with owning a penis.

I love you.

Doesn't that override idiotic sexual prowess content?

I'm still a little curious as to how I race. Oh, God.

Wouldn't you be?

Not at all.

Then again, I'm not blessed with an insecure piece of meat dangling between

my legs.

Well?

Am I a contender? Third runner-up? In the horse race at all?

I refuse to answer such a stupid question.

You're in the top ten.

Okay?

You fucked her. I can tell by the way she smiled when she saw you.

So I have. So what?

Why didn't you tell me?

Because I really didn't think it mattered, especially in a relationship

as open and mature as ours.

But her, I mean her poetry is such shit.

I thought you liked her stuff.

That was before I heard it read.

Christ, Blair, you sound like some clingy parasitic housewife.

I just want to know how many arrogant lesbian poets you've laid.

About as many as the number of punkette trendoids you've notched into the

bedpost.

I'm sorry if I love you too much.

Don't go pulling this shit, okay? I'm not in the mood.

anything I've ever done or will do to you.

How did we ever get so fucked up?

We thought we were so fucking cool, buying London Calling in fear of music

the first day they came out.

We were totally ready for the world to just end.

It was a fucking letdown when things just got worse and even duller.

No future. No future for you.

God, I'm cold.

That's because you're so fucking skinny. No insulation.

I've never felt that fat in my entire life.

Sarah, don't you know it's passe to make yourself the victim of an image-obsessed

fetishizing patriarchy?

I'm always a step behind the latest trends.

I am getting worried about you, Sarah.

Just because I have a severe eating disorder.

There are worse ways to die.

At least I'll be fashionably thin in the casket.

That's not funny.

Karen Carpenter thought so.

Do you guys think about other people when you're having sex?

Always.

Okay, occasionally.

But when I do, I know it's near the end. I figure if I have to fantasize about

someone else to make it, then I ought to be with someone else.

Michael, it's the only way to sustain a relationship that lasts longer than 12

hours.

My best orgasm ever was with Debbie Reynolds.

What? Were you bugging on a sewing machine or something?

The Singing in the Rain was on TV.

My fantasies are getting kinkier and kinkier.

It's almost frightening.

Oh, do tell.

No, it's too embarrassing.

Craig would die if he knew.

Ever wonder what's going through his head?

Matter of fact, no.

I don't think of anyone else when I'm with Alex.

In fact, you know, when I'm with other guys or by myself, he's often the

someone else.

He's still got you, doesn't he?

No.

Let it go.

It's all over now.

He's fucked you over so many times.

I don't like what he does to you.

You should see someone new.

I don't want another relationship.

I mean, what's the point? You meet somebody, get involved, it's great for a

little while, and it just explodes in your face.

I don't have the time anymore.

That's a healthy attitude.

That's the way it is.

I don't know what to do anymore.

Well, I can't share a hypothermic needle.

What, did you make it already?

No, I can't. I just... I want to talk about our relationship.

I can't give meaning to your life.

That's way too much for any one person to handle.

It's just not possible.

What are you doing out here?

Wait.

uh...

Another beautiful, stunning California day.

I noticed.

Why's everyone else so fucking old?

It's only 1.30.

She's so old to you, I bet.

How come the TV isn't on yet?

Shit.

Hey, Micah!

Uh, you mind dropping me off at the store on your way? Told we're out of

beer. Sure.

Okay, if I come along.

I need air.

Can I come too?

You always have to tag along.

Sorry. Um, I don't care.

Forget it.

Guilt. Guilt. I'm choking on it.

Sometimes Greg just exasperates me.

I mean, I'll be the biggest bitch to him and he'll be so damned understanding in

return.

Could be you're just testing his feelings for you before you take that

next big step.

I don't know.

I'm just so tired of dealing with it all.

I saw this really great graffiti on a bus once.

Feel, fuck, forget.

Take it from someone who's forgetting, the first two are a lot more fun.

Do you think things will ever get better again?

No.

I'm bored.

What are you doing?

Thinking.

That girl from the years can be a real charmer.

She's moody.

I'm used to it.

You know how if you stare at something long enough, either it'll eventually

bore the hell out of you, or you'll figure something out.

Or you'll have to get up and take a piss.

Let me know when you land back on Earth.

I really am sorry.

Where's Michael?

He said something about going to the record store.

Wow.

I got you something.

Wow.

Don't worry about it.

It doesn't matter.

Really.

Either of you see my butthole surfers tape?

What did they have against the butthole surfers?

Now this is a pretty sight.

Hey, Mikey.

Bad day at the office, dear?

How about some love action, babe? I've been cooped up here all day taking care

of the kids.

What the fuck are you on?

Me?

I'm high on life.

The joy of being alive in this great, big, wonderful world.

I don't want to fight, Alex.

What do you want, huh, Michael?

I know what you wanted last night.

I know what I want.

I'm so bored. I'm losing my mind.

Then what am I supposed to do about it?

Entertain you?

Keep me fucking company.

Don't just disappear and leave me here to play host to your fucking loony

friend.

I do know what I want.

I want everyone to just leave me alone.

You got it. Only let me do the ditching out this time.

You are so fucked up.

I really don't know why I...

I changed the station, but I can't get up off the couch.

Why bother?

Okay.

How'd it go?

Fuck. It was a pretty sad turnout.

It was fucked.

Sorry to hear that.

That's easy for you to say, sitting around on your svelte apathetic ass.

Leia.

Don't you guys give a shit that this country's following Hitler's step-by

-step recipe for a June barbecue?

Or is that insignificant compared to your own existential self-pity?

Back off, okay, Leia?

What's with Little Miss Revolutionary? Mother stopped payment on the credit

card? I may be middle class, but at least I'm fucking out there making an

effort. Come on, you guys.

How am I supposed to take on the world's problems when I'm so incapable of

handling my own?

Has it ever occurred to you that your own neuroses may not be so fucking

important?

Leia, what do I have to do? Sing into your room?

Fuck you all.

You can sit around here bitching and commiserating. I'm sick of it.

Hi. Sad.

Temperamental.

I'm pregnant.

And Greg doesn't know.

How far?

Past the point of no return.

Why didn't you... Is it mine?

Sarah, Sarah, won't you just wait?

Sarah, I'm sorry.

I don't know what to say.

What do you want to do?

It's just a real bad time right now. I mean, the responsibilities involved.

Will you just listen?

This problem, we... I feel really

confused.

You can get out of it, you know.

It's easy enough.

I don't want to.

Don't lie.

You're scared shitless, admitted.

But you aren't trapped.

There's no obligation here.

You can just walk away from the whole fucking mess.

I love you, Sarah.

Fuck you.

Can I bum a cigarette?

Lick her out.

I don't smoke anything.

At this party once, someone handed me what I thought was a joint.

Turned out to be heroin.

I was wrecked today.

That kid.

I don't know what I'm going to do.

It's not a good situation.

That's the understatement of the century.

You're lucky being gay.

I mean, at least you don't have to worry about accidents like this.

Just lethal viruses.

I guess you're screwed no matter which set of genitalia you find yourself in

bed with.

If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been... Queer?

Since the day I was born, probably.

But sociocultural oppression kept my hands off other males until I was 21?

No, 22.

Actually, the very first time another guy touched me, I was a kid, like

six.

I don't know.

It was my cousin, Ralph.

It was like 10 or so at the time.

I remember every year at Christmas, my family would take this tour through

suburbia, checking out all the decorations in the neighborhood.

It was always like this big deal, and one year, cousin Ralph comes along.

There we were, sitting in the station wagon on those fold-up seats in the

back. Without a word, Ralph reaches down and starts fondling my dick.

Mom and dad are in the front, oohing and awing about the Hendricks' life this

year. Cousin Ralph's sitting there with my pecker in his hand.

Ralph's one of those haunchy, polyesterized real estate brokers now.

Living in Reseda with a fat wife.

Doesn't.

I fell in love with Sarah the first night I met her.

I always thought that would be enough to get us through anything.

I've decided I need to explore the gay side of my personality.

Sarah is one of my oldest friends.

She's my fiancee.

Shit!

You okay?

Fuck.

Jesus.

Wait. Hey, lover.

Aren't you gonna come to my rescue?

How could you?

How could you just go to a fucking bar, pick up some slut fucker, and then come

back here to tell me all about it?

This is it, Leia. This is really it.

Shit.

Let's go somewhere to talk about this.

I don't... I really want to get out of here and talk about this.

Fun?

Yeah.

Messy.

First time?

Not a lot of converts.

Don't know.

Now what?

What? You want to smoke a cigarette or something?

No.

Want to do it again?

I don't think I can.

In that case, let's put our clothes back on and hope no one finds out.

Hey, you with the hat.

What are you?

I'm on my way to Noggle's like every other self-respecting citizen at 3 a.m.

What are you?

You're eating my ass off.

I'm dying for a cigarette.

You'd feel better if you sunk your teeth into one of these.

Want to talk about it?

No.

You're almost done.

Don't worry about even pretending to be civil. I was only asking.

Look, I just... You wouldn't understand.

I know what you think of me.

You and Rachel both.

I don't make excuses for the way I am.

I'm sexual.

I'm a fucking whore.

That doesn't mean I don't feel like her.

You're just irresponsible.

That's all.

I can't help it.

It's great.

I have to get away.

From him. From everything.

It's all like a trap living in it. There's no way out.

I'm irresponsible, and you're so responsible, it's killing you.

You're like fucking Michael, carrying the entire world around on your

shoulders.

I don't pretend everything's okay.

I'm not into deluding myself.

Well, you enjoy the agony, don't you?

Admit it.

You thrive on it.

It's what lets you know you're alive, just like Michael.

You think you're so perceptive that you see it all so lucidly.

I have problems like everyone else, okay?

The world's a cold, tough place, but I just try to put up with it.

Well, maybe you're better at it than me.

You know, I don't think I've ever seen you smile before.

Exactly.

Hi.

Oh, fuck.

Just don't mess up the sheets too much, okay?

Michael. Michael, would you fucking wait?

This tape is in both our mouths.

I want you out of my life.

I mean it this time.

I still love you, Alex.

No matter what I say, no matter what I do, I just keep on loving

you.

But I can't do it anymore.

You realize you love me, so you want me to leave?

Yeah.

Don't be fucking stupid.

Michael, I know this sounds like bullshit, but of everyone I've ever

slept with, you're the only one I know.

I don't care.

I want to hear it.

Would you turn that fucking record over?

Yeah. Michael?

Yeah. Um, if this is really bad timing, I...

Okay.

Where?

I'll be there in 20 minutes.

What are you up to?

You can't fucking do this.

You can't just drop everything and run every time.

Where? I don't know.

I have no idea what I'm gonna do without her.

We've been together for so long, it's like this big vacuum where she used to

be.

I don't know what to say.

What am I supposed to say?

That everything's gonna be fine.

But it's not.

It's not, and we both know it.

It's all fucked up, way beyond repair, and there's not a damn thing we can do

to change it now.

Thanks for all the encouraging words.

I can't do what everyone else wants anymore.

I can't even say I'm here of my own free will, not because I feel obligated.

Like it's expected of me.

It sure is nice being able to count on friends like you.

Then don't.

I never asked you to, and I won't depend on you being there for me either.

Michael, this is really too much. I mean, this whole thing with Leia, this

whole fucking weekend.

Life in the modern world is hard.

Especially when the people you love turn out to be self-centered pricks.

As the saying goes, love is a one letter word spelled I.

Do you like him?

Meanie. I don't know what it means.

Sucked him too?

It's a little different in my case.

Yeah?

Why does anything matter anyway?

He's gonna need to go away for a while.

Funny.

That's exactly what I was about to say.

What do you think would happen?

No.

Everything is falling apart all around me, and I

don't know what to do.

I want to smash a window.

I want to drive off a...

Cliff, I want to fuck my own brains out.

I want to be...

Thanks.

I'm leaving.

I'm sorry.

I can't stand the silence anymore.

You'll feel better if you talk about it.

I don't want to talk about it.

I hate this feeling like an intrusion.

I came here to see you.

Not the city, not the site. You.

You don't even know me anymore.

Bullshit, Michael. We love you.

That doesn't work like it used to.

When we were 20...

Naive, idealistic punks in college. It made all the difference in the world.

But not anymore.

Too much has happened. We've grown too old.

To deny that fact is just a crazy delusion.

I can't keep on lying like that.

Sometimes I feel like I've gotten so fucked up, so alienated, that I can't

handle being with people anymore.

No one can stand being around me.

exposure to low-level radiation, vacationing in Chernobyl.

The long contact can be harmful, fatal even.

So we should all be stuck in isolation capsules as we slowly wither away and

die.

I can only speak for myself when I say I need time alone.

I'm exhausted.

I'm not accustomed to so much company for this extended period.

I'm tired of feeling guilty about not keeping everyone entertained.

Being responsible for everybody's happiness.

You've taken that burden upon yourself. No one's imposed it on you.

Regardless, it's there.

I can't deal with this much disruption of my routine.

I can't wait till you're all gone.

So I can have my space, my mundane, absurd life back.

I'll be able to just sit here in my meager little apartment, smoke a

cigarette, listen to the quiet for a while without having to worry about

doing anything.

I'm sorry, Michael.

I'm sorry you feel that way.

And I'm sorry for anything I've done to hurt you.

I'm going to miss you, Michael.

You'll miss who I used to be.

I'll miss who you were, who you are, and who you're going to be.

What the fuck?

You wanna ride or are you just gonna stand around gawking?

What about you?

Stop it.

Shit.

Where you going?

Away.

Coming or not?

Fucking remake of Bonnie and Clyde.

I see you slept real well too.

What are you doing?

No, to Michael.

I wanted to at least try.

I just don't know what...

So got all your stuff together?

Yeah.

Well, like they say, today is the first day of the rest of our lives.

I can't help it.

I just see him and all I want to do is... I touch him so bad.

But he won't let me.

I think about him all the time whenever we're apart.

I can't even remember what it's like being without Rachel.

It's like all the shit in the world didn't matter when we helped each other.

God.

I feel like we should say something, do something.

Now what?

Where to?

Home for you, I guess.

And you?

Six months.

The maternity ward.

Besides that, I don't know.

I really don't know.

Well...

Bye, Michael.