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To the exclusion of
S.: It's beautiful here.
M.: Yeah.
S.: Can we not go back home now? I want to stay.
M.: Wish we could.
S.: No, really. Why can't we?
M.: I have to work, still. You have to finish school.
S.: But wouldn't you rather just stand here, by this neat little rickety fence, and stare at the ocean?
M.: ... Of course I would. But life's not like that.
S.: It could be.
M.: Why are you suddenly talking like a twenty-four-year-old screenwriter?
S.: I just want a change, M. I don't want to go back.
M.: Some reasons we can't stay: money. jobs. family.
S.: We can sleep on the sand until we get jobs, and that'll be fine. And neither of us like our families that much.
M.: Sleep on the sand?
S.: I want to wake up to these great blue-gray clouds forever.
M.: Look. We're going.
S.: I know you think it's impossible, but.
M.: Because it is. It is impossible. Whims are horrible things to base your happiness on.
S.: All I want is to be somewhere beautiful, M.
M.: To the exclusion of what? Financial security? Career direction? Marketability?
S.: ... To the exclusion of everything.
M.: Well, I can't be here. I have a job to get back to.
S.: To the exclusion of you, then.
M.:
S.: M. Look. This place: does it get any better?
M.: It's just a beach on the coast. With yellow grass and dirty clouds. There are a million other places like this on the planet.
S.: Then there are a million places I'd rather be than back home with you.
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