All language subtitles for The Last Word Eng

♪ ♪

In the end,

what are we to those ideals
we hold most cherished?

Who would they choose
under shroud of a listless sun?

The dust draws near,

and I stand alone,
forsaken,

shivering on the wing
of time and tide.

As dour eyes pale,

struggle gives way
to the whisper

of a merciful eternal hush,

and pain washes numb,

laughing steadfast
on memory's shore.

The dream chooses me,

a nameless gray morass,
riling-

What's a morass?

A bog.

A swamp.

Where I linger and scream
with all my might,

so I turn and drift
into the endless fog

until there is nothing

and I remain still.

♪ ♪

Matthew Morris.

So how does this work?

Well, I was
going to ask you

a few questions
just to get things started.

I mean
with the time table.

Oh, it's pretty
straightforward.

After our second meeting,

I'll provide you
with a rough draft.

That'll take
about two weeks.

Then we'll have two more
meetings for revisions.

All in all, the process takes
about a month, give or take.

How does that time table
work for you?

Yeah, that's fine.

That works.

Good.

Now, is there a particular style
of prose or poetry

that you respond to?

No, I don't think so.

Do you have
a favorite writer?

I don't know.

Anyone;
Shakespeare, Hemingway?

Tom Clancy.

And I like
Charles Schultz.

All right.

Let's talk
a bit about tone.

Were you looking
for something formal

or something
more intimate?

I want it to be
a work of art.

Is that stupid?

No.

No, it's not.

All right.

What I'd like you to do
over the next week, Abel,

is get yourself a little
notebook just like this one.

Begin to jot down thoughts,

anything that
crosses your mind.

It can be phrases,
fragments, emotions.

I told you,
I'm not a writer.

Don't you have a form
or something, multiple choice?

Abel, I'm not asking you
to write a poem.

Just treat it
like a diary.

These are going to be
the building blocks

from which
I construct your note.

Just blurt it out.

I'll make you sing.

Okay?

Rubber baby buggy bumpers,

rubber baby buggy bumpers,

rubber baby buggy bumpers.

Unique New York,

unique New York.

The tip of the tongue,
the teeth, the lips.

The tip of the tongue,
the teeth, the lips.

And so gathered today
in the Lord,

we commit
Matthew Frederick Morris

into the eternal kingdom
of God.

In Matthew's
untimely passing,

we suffer the loss
of a loving son,

brother, and friend,

whose boundless spirit
and inner light

so often shone the way
for others.

He's in our hearts
and minds.

And his light
will endure eternal.

Matthew, a teacher,
even in death,

revealed
an uncommon inner wisdom

in the stirring text
he left behind.

"Know me in strength,
not shame,

"for we are not
who we know.

"In fear, fools covet
the currency of sin

"until all color
bleeds clean.

"But sin is truth,

"loudly so,

"the truth which does not
shine nor glimmer

"but lurks
in the half light of dusk,

"where fanfare
dare not tread.

"So I soar upon
nameless wings

"far above hope and light,

"clutching the endless gray

"to breathe the milk unspoiled,
unspent.

"A kernel released
through stubborn feeble grasp.

And all is quiet. "

Let us pray.

I'll see you there.

Excuse me.

Hi.

Hello.

Uh, I noticed you
at the service,

writing and whatnot,

and I remember thinking
I didn't recognize you.

Are you a friend
of the family?

Are you just
out for a stroll?

Oh, um, no.

No what?

Um...

Actually, I...

I knew Matthew
in college.

We've lost touch
over time.

But I read the announcement
in the newspaper,

and I thought I should come
pay my last respects.

That's very kind of you.

I didn't
catch your name.

Evan.

Evan...

Merc.

Well, thank you
for coming, Evan Merc.

I'm...

I'm Matt's sister-

Charlotte.

He...

mentioned you.

I remember because my mother's
name was Charlotte.

"Suffering is the sole origin
of consciousness. "

Dostoyevsky.

I'll be jiggered.

Of course,
he was a violent drunk.

My condolences
to your family.

It was very nice
to meet you.

Yeah.

Bye.

So these are all
real samples?

They're beautiful;

really-they're really moving.

Thank you.

Actually, last year,
one of my clients

received the Whitman Award
for poetry,

posthumously.

I believe
it's on page three.

It begins with
"Mine is the army of angels. "

Jesus.

Doesn't bother you,
you didn't even get the credit?

No.

It's more or less
his thoughts.

I just sort of...

Plus those awards
are so political.

It's kind of disgusting.

Want to know
what the irony is in this?

I'm a writer.

Yeah, I'm sitting here
with you.

I'm a fucking writer.

I mean, of all the things
I should be able to do myself.

Right?

How pathetic is that?

Let me ask you
a question.

What percentage of your clients
actually, uh...

actually do it?

I mean, how many people
pull the trigger?

Brady, I don't...

have any way
of knowing that.

I think that some people
treat this process

as a sort of therapy.

Yeah, yeah.

But if you had to estimate
just for fuck-all...

Shot in the dark?

Maybe 30-

Okay, all right.
Never mind.

Don't tell me.

Okay.

Let's get back
to the samples, yeah?

Brady?

I'm sorry.

I can't do this.

Hello?

Yes, it is.

Who?

You know, they really do
have great pies here.

I recommend anything
in the cream family or rhubarb.

So I hope you don't
take this the wrong way,

but how did you
get my number?

The phone book.

Oh.

There were actually
four E. Mercs.

You were the third.

'Cause I thought
I was unlisted.

No, the first one
was an Edgar.

And the second one
was Evelyn.

You don't want
to call her.

She's grouchy.

What can I get you?

I will have
cream cheese carrot cake

and some tea please.

Okay.

Coffee.

So you're probably wondering why
I went through the trouble...

The thought
crossed my mind.

I always loved
that expression,

"crossed my mind. "

It always makes me think
of little freeways in my head.

I wasn't close
to my brother.

We became estranged
pretty early on.

You know,
and then different lives

and all that horseshit.

And now he's dead,
like, poof.

Here you go.

Thank you.

Coffee.

Thanks.

Clifton Fadiman called cheese
milk's leap toward immortality.

Mm.

You know what's weird is,

I don't know a single one
of Matty's friends,

until you now.

Were you guys
close in college?

No.

I was really
more of a tutor.

Oh.

I just assumed
because you knew my name

that you guys were close.

Well, remember,

that's because Charlotte
was my mother's name too.

Oh, right.

When he mentioned it,
it just sort of stuck.

My mother's name
is Hilda.

I don't know anyone else
with that name.

It's so German.

It's like, yikes.

German, like...

Can I ask you
a personal question?

What were you writing
at Matty's funeral?

I was just
jotting down thoughts,

impressions.

Are you a writer?

Yeah.

What do you write?

Mostly poetry.

Are you published?

Sparsely.

I write poems
for special occasions,

like birthdays,
bar mitzvahs.

Well, I'm over here.

Where are you parked?

I'm...
I'm not.

I don't have a car.

Really?

How'd you get here?

Took the bus.

You don't have
a car in L.A.?

Thanks for the coffee
and the ride.

It's been...

Odd?

I'm sorry I couldn't be
more helpful to you

with your brother.

Just a stab
in the dark.

It's great to meet you.

- Thanks for being here.
- Thanks for having me.

Hello?

Hi, is this Evan?

Who's this?

This is Abel.

Um, we're supposed
to meet tomorrow.

Abel, how did you
get this number?

The phone book.

Jesus.

Look, I'm sorry
to call you at home,

but I don't know
what else to do.

This whole diary thing,
it's crap.

I can't do it.
I tried.

They only thing I came up with
were old baseball statistics.

I told you,
I'm not a writer.

Abel, it's okay.

We can brainstorm
when we get together.

And I can't meet you
at that stupid coffeehouse.

It's impossible
to concentrate,

and the bathroom
has shitty elevator music.

Look, I was thinking
we could meet at my studio.

It's quiet.

Abel, I'd prefer
that we keep our meetings

in a more neutral-

Dude, I've got major issues.

It should be
fucking implicit.

I can't do this
any other way.

I'm totally
constipated right now.

I may have to induce.
You know what I mean?

♪ ♪

Stop, stop, stop.

Terry, it's a trumpet
not a bagpipe.

You sound like a Chinese whore
on sumo night.

All right, let's take it
from measure 39.

♪ ♪

Sorry to make you wait.

It's okay.

Dealing with these shithead
Silicone Valley executives.

Is that who you work for?

I write hold music.

Hold music,

as in telephone?

Yeah.

Yeah, but get this:

they tell me
after the session today

that some Einstein over there
read a study

about how listening to Mozart
can increase your IQ.

So now they want me
to start over

and write some hack
Mozart crap

so the customers
can smarten up

and answer
their own tech support questions

while they're on hold.

Yeah, that sounds
pretty stupid.

Thank you.

Corporate shitheads.

You know, out of college,
I wrote a symphonic rhapsody

that was actually premiered
by the Boston Phil.

Wow.

Yeah,
one review called it

"music to commit
mass murder by. "

Is that supposed to be
good or bad?

I guess that depends
on your interest.

So we're supposed
to brainstorm today, right?

Yeah.

Can't you just write something
brilliant and give it to me?

It's not how it works.

This is going
to be the last thing

that anybody
ever hears from you.

It's a very personal statement.

Otherwise, you might as well
go buy a Hallmark card.

Fine.

So...

So tell me something
about your life.

My life?

Wow.

Where do I begin?

I masturbate...

a lot,

usually out of boredom.

Sometimes
while I'm jacking off,

my mind will wander,

and I'll start thinking
of totally random stuff,

like whether
I'm out of peanut butter.

So later,
when I'm at the store,

while I'm standing
in the peanut butter aisle,

I'll pop a boner.

I'll be standing there
at the store sporting wood

because I'm staring
at fucking peanut butter.

So then, of course, I have
to go home and masturbate.

Should we
put that in my note?

Abel?

Not recently.

Hello?

Hey, it's Charlotte,

from-
you know, Charlotte?

Right.
Hi.

Hi.

Is this
a bad time?

Um...

I was calling to-

I was just wondering if you
were doing anything tonight.

I thought maybe we could get
together and have a drink.

Hello?

Hi.
Um...

Look, I've pretty much told you

everything I remember
about your brother.

Oh, this isn't
about that.

I was just thinking
more casual.

Casual, like-

like a date,
casual?

Um, okay,

if you have to label it,
like a date.

Uh, Charlotte,
I have to work.

So take a break.

Remember,
I know where you live.

Don't make me
come and stalk you.

I don't have
the right wardrobe.

This is...

- I don't-
- That's so touching.

Have you ever been
to the Peppercorn?

No.

Well, you'll like it.

I can come and pick you up,
like 10:00?

I don't need a ride.

Okay, cool.
I'll see you then.

Oh, how's this?

This is good.
This is good.

Johnny Walker Red straight
and a glass of merlot.

Evan?

Can I have
a Budweiser?

Yes, of course.

This is a nice place.

Um...

where are you from
originally?

Who's really from anywhere
these days, you know?

I guess I meant,
where were you born?

Bethesda, Maryland.

I've never been there.

Is it nice?

I don't remember.

I was zero
at the time.

All right, look, I-

I don't really date much.

And you're doing great.

So far since we've been here,

you haven't scoped out
any other chicks

or stole my credit card,

which is a lot more than
I can say for my last date.

So in my book,
you're aces.

How's your mother?

Okay.

She's a very strong woman,
you know?

Obviously,
it's going to take time.

I think the nights
are tough for her.

Night brings our troubles
to the light

rather than
banishes them.

Seneca.

You sure like to quote people,
don't you?

It beats having
your own opinion.

Amen to that.

You know, there's
a really good club upstairs

great music.

Want to go check it out?

I...

No, I'm not
particularly funky.

Oh, I think you are.

No, really...

You're funky.

Come on.
It'll be fun.

♪ ♪

Two Johnny Reds.

Jesus.

Can't feel a thing till
you can't feel a thing, right?

You weren't
dancing much tonight.

You noticed?

Well, I guess that place
isn't for everyone.

This is kind of absurd.

Can I just
drive you home?

Thanks,
but this will be fine.

Hello?

Hi, Evan, it's Charlotte.

Hi.

Hi.

Hi.

I know it's late.

I just wanted
to call and apologize

about the other night.

No need.

Mm.

I really
don't have an excuse

other than,
I was in a mood.

You were in a mood?

I was in a mood.

I'm not sure
what to do with that.

You can
accept my apology.

I mean,
I like you, Evan.

I can't say
that's evident.

Hm.

Well, a shrink once told me
that I suffered

from an unconscious conspiracy
against closeness.

Did he say why?

Mm, I stopped
seeing him.

Hey, did you
get my cookies?

I got dried fruit.

What?
Not cookies?

From Gift Bonanza?

I think so.

Motherfuckers.

Oh, man,
that changes everything.

Now I have
to make it up to you.

You got to let me
take you to lunch.

No, that's okay.

No, no.
Evan, seriously.

I promise,
no strings, no mood.

You pick the place.

This is nothing.

This is just-

You know what?
This is-it's closure.

And I need closure.

I use to hate
the sound of the surf.

At night, it'd seem
like it was getting closer,

like it was going
to swallow me.

Did you use to live
near the beach?

For a time.

You don't strike me
as a surfer dude.

Evan the surfer?

That's just wrong.

Sandwich is really good.

What's in it?

Um, lettuce
and a secret ingredient.

Is it turkey?

Yep.

So where
did you grow up?

Everywhere.

My father
was abusive.

My mom, she got fed up,

so she packed me in a car
and drove away.

He chased us
across nine states.

How old were you?

I was five.

I remember a lot of Denny's.

I still know the menu
by heart.

Wait, did he catch you?

Yeah, in North Carolina.

He was out of control.

He nearly killed my mom

and broke my arm when
I tried to pull him off her.

And a couple days later,

the cops came
and threw him in jail.

They actually made
a Movie of the Week out of it.

It's called Against the Odds.

Oh, Jesus.

Then, a year later, my mom
wrapped her car around a tree,

and she died in surgery.

And they threw me
in the foster system,

and the rest is...

You've heard it before.

I once drank a bottle
of my dad's Pepto-Bismol

'cause I thought
it looked like Strawberry Quik.

Bummer.

I mean,
it's kind of amazing

that you didn't
end up totally fucked up.

Isn't it?

The only thing we ever had
in common when we were kids is,

we both loved ice cream.

I remember, one Christmas,

he actually stuffed a whole
quart of mint chocolate chip

into the bird feeder.

You know, the whole
spirit of giving, all that?

And then, when he found out
there were no birds

at the Nativity,

he actually went
and scooped it back

and put it back
in the freezer

mixed in
with all the bird seed.

Oh, look.

Old carousel.

I love old carousels.

You want to go on?

Nah.

No, I'm...

I'm not very good
with spinning.

Okay, so you
don't like clubs,

you don't really
have any friends or hobbies,

and you're not
very good with spinning.

Well, what is it
that you like to do?

This is where I go
to read and write and relax.

Wow.

All those offices.

Over 4,000.

Is that your chair?

Yeah.

Isn’t it strange?

The world is so big,
all that space.

People still want to pack
themselves in tiny little boxes

and stack them
on top of each other.

You should get
a telescope up here.

You could spy on
all those corporate crooks,

watch them shredding shit,
banging their secretaries.

I've thought
about that.

Yeah, but then again,
they could be watching you.

Maybe.

Matty would've
liked it up here.

Really?

Charlotte, um...

I don't know
how to put this.

Given the history here,

is it possible that,
subconsciously,

you're looking for me
to replace your brother?

Charlotte?

What are you doing?

How many offices
did you say were facing us?

4,000.

How many do you think
are occupied right now?

Maybe half.

And out of all those offices,

how many people do you think
are looking out their windows?

5%?

5%.

That's 150 people...

looking out at us,
watching.

I'm good with numbers.

Can you feel it?

You fucking hero.

I have
unnaturally thin ankles.

It comes up.

Noted.

Well, it's small
and kind of shitty.

I like it.

You know
what they're saying.

Small's the new big.

Well, it's big
and shitty, then.

Is that your bathroom?

Yeah.

I'm dirty.

You're very dirty.

Do you want
to take a shower?

Huh?

We should fuck
in the shower.

It's good...

for a first draft.

Thanks.

Who are you quoting here,
in the third paragraph?

That's Brooke.

Oh.

Who's Brooke?

And I thought
we talked about Tom Clancy.

It's Byron Brooke.

He's an 18th-century
poet and writer.

Is he any good?

Well, yeah.

Sounds like Shakespeare.

Is Brooke
maybe too obscure?

I mean, I don't want to be
labeled a pretentious asshole

because I'm quoting some poet
that nobody's heard of.

Brooke is well respected.

He's not obscure at all.

If you want, I could
show you his bibliography.

Okay.

When can you do that?

Um, tomorrow.

Hello?

Hello?

Shit.

I was thinking about
Edgar Allan Poe.

What about him?

I read one
of his poems once.

I remember
liking it.

You know,
maybe instead of Brooke.

Um...

Poe's work
is pretty dark and,

well, creepy.

My life
is dark and creepy.

I don't like Brooke.

He sounds like Shakespeare.

I'm not a Shakespeare guy.

I'm not.

Hey, Francine.
Come on, you with me?

Yeah.

I'm sorry.

I didn't get much sleep.

It's catching up.

You're having
trouble sleeping?

Yes.

No.

I'll fix you up.

This is a nocturne
I wrote for piano.

Next time you're
having trouble sleeping,

you play this.

Abel, that's
very kind of you, but...

How are you going to be my voice
if you can't hear my music?

Okay.

You have no messages.

♪ ♪

Wow, a machine.

It's a miracle.

Evan, it's Charlotte.

I called because
I was thinking about you,

and I guess that's it.

Call me.

Bye.

Wow, a machine.

It's a miracle.

Evan, it's Charlotte.

I called because
I was thinking about you,

and I guess that's it.

Call me.

Wow, a machine.

It's a miracle.

Evan, it's Charlotte.

Really,
it's very moving.

Thank you.

That means
a lot to me

coming from
another artist.

Yeah, but...

I mean, I don't even
like classical music.

Takes a lot for me to...

Anyway, your piece,
it's really good.

Not that hold music isn't...
you know.

But why aren't you writing
symphonies or whatever?

Remember, my symphonic debut
failed resoundingly.

Yeah, but
how long ago was that?

That doesn't matter.

They don't forget.

They never forget.

People never forget.

People are assholes.

What about you?

How did you find
your calling?

Um, well,
I was a starving writer

doing freelance work
that no one ever read

until one day,
I met a guy on a train.

It was one of those
Wall Street gurus.

We hit it off,

and he wanted me to write him
a poem for his 50th birthday.

Only then he killed himself.

Everybody thought
it was a good-bye message.

And they published it
in The Atlantic Monthly.

That's how I got started.

I've never taken a train.

She doesn't know the truth?

No.

And now
you're dating her?

Sort of.

Wow.

Well, that's a choice.

I know it's a choice.

I guess it sounds
kind of crazy.

Man, I don't know.

You shouldn't ask me.

I cheated on my ex-wife
with her therapist.

I'm not smart.

See you.

So when are you going to let me
read some of your stuff?

What do you want
to read?

I don't care.
Anything.

I didn't really
bring anything with me.

I didn't mean now.

Oh, you got
to check out this tub.

Most days,
I lie encased in a dream,

kicking and screaming,

unable to wake for fear
of breathing in the poison

that too long sustained me.

So I hold my breath,

writhing in agony,

until the day
I can sleep eternal

and dream no more.

How's your fish?

It's good.

It's not too fishy.

What are you doing?

Oh, sorry.

I just-
I picked up your book,

and this came...

God, Evan,
this is really dark.

Did you write this?

Yeah, it's a speech
for a script I'm writing.

Oh, you're writing a script?

Mm, screenplay.

I just started it.

Cool.

What's it about?

Well, just...

It's about a cop
who goes undercover and...

deep undercover, and he gets
involved with the drug people,

and they kidnap his wife.

Yeah.

So that's the plot?

Mm-hmm, broad strokes.

It sounds a little derivative,
doesn't it?

Really?

No, I mean,
I don't think so.

It's-

you know,
it's execution-driven,

performances.

Hello?

Hey, it's Abel.

I'm sorry
to call you at home.

No, it's okay.

What's up?

Well, I was wondering
if you were busy later.

Ooh, uh...

I'm sorry, Abel.

I'm not ready
to show you the new draft yet.

No, no, it's okay.

You ever fly a helicopter?

More throttle.
More throttle.

More throttle.

More throttle.
Left rudder.

Left hand,
left hand.

Right rudder.

Throttle, left hand,
left hand.

Right rudder.
Right rudder.

Right rudder.
Hello?

We just died.

Nice.

Oh, I feel good today.

I don't know why.

It started this morning
when I took a really great dump.

So how was your trip?

It was good.

You like this chick.
I can tell.

Just don't
fuck her in the ass.

Sodomy changes shit.

Trust me.

Uh, how's your music coming?

I don't know.

It's fine.

Shitty.

Fine.

I love music.

I just wish I didn't need it
to pay the bills.

Yeah, but if you didn't
write music, what would you do,

right?

I would buy a cliff.

Huh?

I would buy a cliff where people
could come and throw shit off,

you know, like fax machines
or computers or whatever,

things that piss them off
'cause they didn't work right,

like an outlet
for machine rage.

And the whole thing would be
videotaped in slow motion

so they could
watch their heap of shit

break into
a million pieces back at home.

Plus, for an extra couple bucks,

I would attach an explosive
so it would blow up on impact,

just like they do in the movies,
a big fireball.

That would be cool.

- Hey.
- Hi.

- You're early.
- I know.

I just wanted to get
a jump on traffic.

My mom can get nervous.

But so we have time.

Do your thing.

I'm so sorry.

My place is always
such a mess.

Please.

You've been
to my house.

I'm just going
to go finish up in the...

Okay.

Hey, I don't want
to beat a dead horse…

But you're going to anyway.

It's just that
I get extremely nervous

at these types of things.

What are
"these type of things"?

Well, I mean,

how long
have we been dating?

Seems a little early
to be meeting your family.

Okay, I'm going to pretend
I didn't hear you just say that.

And I'm going to pretend

that you know exactly
how long we've been dating.

Right, so who
am I meeting tonight?

Uh, my cousin Greg
and his girlfriend, I think,

my mom's ten-year-old
goddaughter, Robin,

whose parents
are in Guatemala or somewhere,

and her ancient
next-door neighbor Francis.

I haven't quite figured out
what his deal is,

but he's her
latest project.

Hey, hon,
do me a favor.

There's some ties
on the bed.

Could you
pick me out one?

Yikes.

Evan,

these are kind of drab.

What do you say
we skip the tie for dinner,

and we figure out a way
to use them later?

Okay.

Are you ready?

Sound good?

This is good soup.

Yeah, it's great.

It's really delicious.

Thank you.

So, Charlotte,
are you working right now?

Yeah.

I'm doing some consulting work
at a pharmaceutical company.

It's just temporary.

I think they're
being investigated.

Why?

Oh, my.

Yeah, well,
don't worry, Mom.

I'm not exactly thrilled about
my parking space anyway.

And you're a writer?

Yes, I am.

Do you enjoy that?

For the most part.

I believe Clare
is studying to be a writer.

Well, I'm a journalism major.

What do you write?

Mostly freelance.

Short subject.

Well, that must be fascinating.

I guess so.

"Writing is not a profession
but a vocation of unhappiness,"

to quote Henry Miller.

Was he freelance too?

Yes, I believe so.

I don't think I could
ever be a novelist.

It just seems
like such a lonely life.

And I'm just too much
of a people person.

Well, you got to go
with your gifts.

Right?

Plus, I think
I'm too type-A

to ever treat writing
like a vacation, you know?

Vocation.

Oh, I thought
you said "vacation. "

Right, I didn't.

Evan, Charlotte tells me that
you went to Cornell with Matty.

Yes, I did.

Greg's at Cornell too.

He's a sophomore.

No kidding.

How do you like it?

It's pretty cool.

Dorm kind of sucks, though.

Where'd you live
when you were there?

I lived off-campus.

Not freshman year,
right?

Right.

I can't remember my dorm
freshman year right now.

It seems to have slipped
my mind.

North campus,
Keller Hall,

Sterling Quad?

Sterling Quad,
on the tip of my tongue.

Those dorms
aren't too bad.

You in line
for the bathroom?

Yep.

So your parents
are in Guatemala?

Why'd they go there?

'Cause God told them to.

Oh.

Hey.
Hey.

So when you headed
back to New York?

Thursday, I think.

Mm-hmm.

Evan is interesting.

Well, that's bravely
noncommittal.

Where'd you meet him?

At Matty's funeral.

I know
that sounds strange.

Well, not that it matters,

but your boyfriend
did not go to Cornell.

What?

These are cute baby pictures.

Yeah, they're adorable.

Kitridge Hall
and Sterling Quad don't exist.

You never went
to fucking Cornell.

Just thought I'd spare you
any further embarrassment.

So let's start over.

I'm Charlotte.
Who the fuck are you?

Here we are.

I don't know
how you take your coffee,

but I have both sugar
and Sweet'N Low.

Please, sit.
Sit, sit, sit.

Francis, would you
like cream in your coffee?

I think you'd
enjoy some cream.

So, Evan,

how long have you lived
in Los Angeles?

Um, about five years.

Ah.

So you found
a happy home here.

I think so.

I never went to Cornell.

I'm sorry?

I never went to Cornell.

I went to a small community
college outside of Philadelphia.

Oh.

After I graduated, I...

I wrote for a men's
health journal in Ithaca.

That's where
I met Matt.

We shared
a bus route.

You rode a bus together?

I told you that
we went to school together

because I thought that would
somehow seem less random.

I was nervous to meet you.

Why?

I have a picture.

I...

traded Matt bus fare
for a picture

he had in his wallet one day.

What picture?

Why would you want this?

Because I thought
you were beautiful.

For me,

hell has reserved
a special place

where I sit and talk
and scare myself to death

a little bit more
each day.

You're an asshole.

You know that, right?

Yeah.

So here's
your warning shot.

I'm willing
to look past this

on one condition:

from now on,

no matter how insignificant
or justifiable or fucking noble

it may seem
at the time,

you won't ever,
ever lie to me again.

Okay?

Okay.

You rode
the bus together?

Yeah.

I had to think fast.

It's the best
I could come up with.

I really did have a job
in Ithaca once.

That wasn't a lie.

I think we got to rework
the second paragraph.

I sound nuts here.

What the fuck
am I doing?

So you lied.

Just don't do it again
if it bothers you that much.

And if it was really meant
to be, then, you know...

all that shit.

What do you mean "nuts"?

Just tell her
you're sorry.

Get her some flowers
and buy her a puppy.

Chicks love puppies, man.

I'm telling you.

They're like heroin
with fur.

I don't know
what the hell I was thinking.

This is crazy.

Well, you know
what they say.

If you want to make an omelet,
you got to break some eggs.

How does that apply here?

I don't know.

You're being
very tense.

We got to get out of here.

What?

Stress therapy.

A little field trip.

I got just the thing
to clear your head.

Trust me.

Why are we sitting here?

We're looking
for our mark.

Mark?
What mark?

Just...
don't worry.

You got to be patient.

Do you want a smoothie?

No.

Oh.

How perfect.
Perfect.

- What?
- Come on.

Come on, now listen.

Stay close,
and no matter what I do,

don't make any sound at all.

All right?
It's important.

Ah, you okay?

What's wrong?

Oh, that was great.

Oh, man.

You've got to try that.

That's your stress therapy,

scaring babies?

I also do
breathing exercises.

Oh, come on.

What do you remember
from that age?

Nothing.

This is so harmless.

If anything I'm endowing him
with a very necessary distrust

of strangers.

Their parents
should be thanking me.

This is healthy
and primal.

Come on.
You'll see.

No.

Are you kidding?

Oh, Jesus, what is it with this
cultural reverence of babies?

'Cause I got news for you,

just because
you're short and chubby,

that doesn't mean
you're not an asshole.

Kid was a dick.

You're not like
my other clients.

Oh, yeah?

Yeah.

What are your
other clients like?

Tired.

Well, I guess
it goes in cycles with me.

I'm supposed to take
these pills, which I hate.

And when I don't,
it can get pretty bad.

But I'm back on now,
and it's better.

Still, I figured I would stick
it out with us, you know,

the note,

just to have
in my back pocket for when...

Want to know
where I'm going to do it?

No, not really.

The I-10 overpass
at Victory.

It's nice and high.

And it's a pretty
nostalgic spot for me.

About six years ago,

I got offered an interview

for the
musical director position

at the Los Angeles
Master Chorale.

My then-wife's father
was on the board.

But that morning,
a truck jackknifed

on the freeway,

and I sat in traffic right in
that spot under the overpass.

Three hours,
I just say there.

Of course, I missed
the interview completely,

didn't get the job.

Anyway, that's where
I'm going to jump.

See if I can't make some other
shitheads late that morning.

So how's your screenplay
coming along?

Um, beginning stages,
really.

Why?

Well, I was thinking about it,
and I have this friend.

He's actually this guy
in my yoga class

who's a screenwriter.

And I was thinking maybe
you guys could get together,

and you could, like,
tell him your ideas.

He could give you feedback.

I mean, you know,
it's such a tough industry.

Yeah.
Yeah, thanks.

It's something
to think about.

So you're open to it?

Sure.

Good, because I actually
asked him to join us for lunch.

What?

Oh, it's totally casual.

I mean, it's not like you
have to pitch him or anything.

Jesus, Charlotte,
why didn't you ask me first?

I just did,
and you said you were open-

Yeah, I'm open to it,
but what the fuck?

You're fucking trapping me here,
you know that?

Fuck.

God, Evan...

I would never
try and trap you.

I'm sorry.

I was just
trying to help.

I care about you, Evan.

He's here.

Don't worry.
I'll fix it.

I'll just tell him that we don't
want to talk about the script.

- Hey, Brady.
- Hey, Charlotte.

Hey, thanks for coming.

Uh, Brady the screenwriter,

this is Evan the poet.

Yeah, we've...
we've met.

Really?

No, I don't think so.

But I get that a lot.

Now, I know
your time is valuable,

but Charlotte
thought you could

brainstorm
a few points on my script.

It's about a cop
who goes undercover

to work with a drug dealer.

Now, the cop has a friend

who also knows
the drug dealer.

But the friend
doesn't tell the drug dealer

what the cop
really does for a living.

Why not?

Because friends
are super cool that way.

Huh.

Or maybe the cop sweetens
the deal for his friend.

You mean
like a payoff?

Ooh, I like that.

Sounds good.

What kind of payoff
are we talking about?

I don't know.

Throw out a number.

Okay, maybe $200.

200 bucks?
Are you kidding?

Shh.
My movie.

No, I think Charlotte
might be right.

I was thinking
more like $1,000.

At least.

Um, but don't
you think that would

totally destroy the friendship?

Yeah.

Yeah, but you're writing drama.

And that would be
very dramatic.

You're quiet tonight.

Am I?

What are you thinking?

Today would've been
Matty's 31st birthday.

Oh.

Just kind of creeps up on me
sometimes, you know?

Yeah.

You want to be alone?

No.

I don't know.
No.

I remember wanting this stuffed
giraffe when I was a kid.

My parents weren't clued in enough to get one for me.

Maybe that's why
I haven't found a career.

Maybe that's why
I bite my nails.

What time do you
have to get up for work?

7:00.

Hey, do you want
to meet me for lunch?

Um, I can't.

There's this thing.

It's a poetry symposium
at UCLA.

Fun.

You don't get
a lot of women, do you?

No, not a lot.

I can tell by the way
you look at me.

Oh, I'm sorry.
I didn't mean to look-

I need to do this
as quickly as possible.

How does it work?

Yeah?

Yeah, I put it
on his desk this morning.

No, I already
talked to him about it.

Oh, man, I...

Never!

I will see you in hell

before I let you come
within 100 miles of my son.

Don't tempt me, dear.

I've been to hell, and now
I'm coming to get my family.

That's a promise.

- Hey.
- Hey, what's up?

Hey, Robin.

You guys look comfortable.

What are you watching?

No way.

Where'd you find this?

A friend of mine works
in archives at the TV Academy.

She dug it up.

Do you want me
to turn it off?

Oh, no,
that's okay.

Holy shit.

Language.

Sorry.

TV Guide
called it "spellbinding. "

And you didn't tell me
Susan Lucci played your mom.

You did not ask.

So you don't want
to watch it with us, do you?

That's okay.
I know how it ends.

I need coffee.

Can I have coffee?

Yeah, right after
you do my taxes.

So how was work?

Work was silly.

By the way,
I saw you having lunch today

when I was driving
through Silver Lake.

What was that?

Didn't you have that
poetry thing in Westwood?

I did.

How long
did that go on for?

Pretty much all day.

You know how they love
to hear themselves talk, poets.

Why do you ask?

No reason.

Hey.

Gotta go to work.

Okay.

I miss you already.

Do you want
to meet me for lunch?

Um, I'm sorry.
I can't.

I have an appointment.

I'll see you tonight,
though.

I tried, but I couldn't
think of a single thing.

Nothing.

Maybe you should take
a few more days.

I go through the motions,

and I don't know
what to search for anymore.

I think when we finally
stop looking for answers,

the questions
will fade away too.

And that's a good thing,

'cause then we can stop
living in our head

and just let go.

Fuck.

Uh.

Charlotte?

I do know this:

I have no right to ask
or expect anything of you.

I have no right
to your forgiveness.

I have no right to even
the slightest indulgence.

But I am asking...

I'm asking you
to call me.

I'm asking you
to call me.

That's what I'm doing.

It's 10:30.

You're probably at work.

I found a box
of Maxi Pads.

I don't think
they're mine.

Maybe we could arrange a way
to get them to you?

Or just call.

Hey, man.

Where the hell were you
last night?

I waited
for half an hour.

You better be
in the hospital

or at least dead.

Okay, kidding.

Call me.

Evan, what the fuck?

You got
to call me back.

Where the fuck are you?

I'm not doing so hot right now,
you know?

Plea-

Hey,
Charlotte.

Wait.

That's your stuff
from my place.

Why can't
we just talk?

It's nothing
to talk about.

I wish you the best, Evan.
I really do.

Hey, Charlotte.

Wait.

Charlotte, wait.

Please don't do this.

Leave me alone.

You picked me,
Charlotte.

You can't just
throw me away.

We need to talk about this.

Talk?

What's there
to talk about?

You're a good poet,

and you helped shoot a bullet
into my brother's head.

I think that's pretty much
a mouthful, don't you?

Hey, you know zero
about what I do.

I had nothing to do
with his choices.

Oh!

Oh, no, you just wrote
his fucking epitaph,

fucking soulless fuck.

You're a real saint.

So what should
I have told him,

that he was taking
the coward's way out,

that he was being selfish?

Yes!

Yes, that's what
you should've told him.

It's rhetoric,
Charlotte.

It's a crock of shit.

Maybe some things
aren't worth sticking out.

Have you thought
about that?

Maybe sometimes life
is so fucking unbearable,

it's best to just
cut your losses.

Who the fuck are you to decide
whose life is worth what?

My brother was depressed.

He needed help.

He was going to die.

He had pancreatic cancer.

He had no friends.

He didn't want
to burden his family.

He was in
a lot of pain.

Fuck you.

I'll have another one of these,
not those.

Hey.

Hey.

We having ourselves
a tea party?

Sammy.

Evan.

Who's your friend?

Oh, I was going
to donate it.

Can I settle up?

$22.

I'm sorry.
That's all I've got.

You're not leaving,
are you?

Yeah.

It was nice to meet you,
Sammy.

Likewise.

Get up, slowly.

Uh!

- What-
- Am I doing?

Heh, good question.

I was trying
to follow you to your car,

and then you sat down
at the fucking bus stop.

I mean, who the fuck
rides the bus in L.A.?

You left the bar
a little heavy, my friend.

Get up.
Give me your wallet.

- Please.
- Shut up.

Take it.
Just-

Oh!

What's a shitbag like you doing
carrying all this cash for?

Did you steal it?

Oh, I bet you did,
you fucking bus faggot.

Please, just go.

I'm sorry.
Am I keeping you?

Please, just go.

Shut the fuck up!

You don't think
I'm funny, huh?

You think you're better than me,
you little fucking bitch pussy,

is that it,
you little fucking prick pussy-

I'm shit!

Don't look at me!

I'm shit!

Don't look at me!

I'm worthless shit!

I'm worthless shit!

Don't look at me!

Don't look at me!

I'm shit!

Sorry.

Hello?

Abel.
Abel, hey, it's Evan.

Oh.

You got
some kind of timing.

Why is that?

No reason.

I was on my way out.

Uh...

Uh, look,
I'm sorry I haven't called.

What do you want?

Well, listen, I was thinking
maybe we could meet up,

you know?

I don't think so.

Well, um...

I've got some new ideas
for the note,

and we could
get together.

The note's perfect.

It's done.

I put a check
in the mail this morning.

I know that's
against your policy,

but, frankly,
some of your policies

aren't exactly
consumer-minded.

Look, Abel,
let's get a drink, man.

No, man, no.

I-
I...

I got places to be.

Abel?

Abel?

Abel?

What are you
doing here?

I'd like to watch.

Go home, Evan.

I'm serious.

Can I do that?

Why?

I've written
a lot of notes,

and I've gone
to a lot of funerals,

but I've never actually watched
a client go through this part.

It'll help me.

Fine, fine.
Do what you want.

So what are your plans?

What the fuck
do you mean?

I mean, in a few minutes,
you're going to be gone.

Maybe that's it.

But maybe there's a heaven...

or hell.

And if there is,

what are your plans?

I was going
to play it by ear.

Now shut up, please.

Don't.

I have no choice.

Please don't.

Why shouldn't I?

No reason.

Only, do it tomorrow.

Let me buy you
a slice of pizza.

I could use
a slice of pizza.

You wouldn't believe
the day I've had.

For me.

Do it for that reason?

That's not enough, Evan.

I'm sorry.

It isn't.

Come in.

Hi.

Hey.

I thought
you were someone else.

You leaving?

Yeah.

Actually, I thought
you were the movers.

They're late.

What happened
to your face?

Nothing.

Altercation.

An altercation?

Jesus, Evan.

I'm not sure
really why I came.

I'm glad you did.

Fuck you.

Well, then.

And who the fuck are you?

I'm not really sure.

I've been living
with some issues.

In the past,

I would manage those issues

by writing about
other people's pain.

Issues.

Rage...

issues.

Growing up in the foster system
can be kind of complicated.

Right, fuck it.

Who knows why we do
what we do, really?

I decided
to stop writing.

I'm going
to start a business,

out of state, I think.

Maybe I'll
come back in a year.

I don't know.

What's up with you?

I just...

came by to...

tell you I've been
doing a lot of thinking

and that you're
a horrible boyfriend

with a despicable
fucking day job,

but that it's not your fault
that I lost my brother,

and it's not your fault
that I wasn't there

when he needed someone.

And I wanted you
to know that.

So...

I'm going to go.

Is that for me?

Yeah.

Well, if you do come back
in a year or so,

maybe give me a call,
let me know you're alive.

I probably
won't want to see you.

Okay.

So, um,
how does this work?

Do I say something?

If you feel like it.

Oh.

And then you can watch
on that monitor.

Okay.

Are you ready?

Yeah.

Stand by, one.

Rolling.

Who's laughing now, huh?

Rot in hell,
you worthless piece of shit.

Ah!

Fuckin' sweet.

♪ ♪