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Second strike
F.: I'd say 'Hey, man, have a beer,' except you look like you've already had eight. What happened? Heard Fosco laid off some more this week. You get hit?
M.: She wrote me yesterday.
F.: Leah?
M.: (nods)
F.: What'd she --
M.: Here.
F.: Dang, it's long.
M.: Hey, barkeep -- you got anything...I dunno. Weird?
B.: Owner keeps this really heavy Czechoslovakian ale on tap.
M.: Serve it up.
F.: I'll just have a beer. ... Man, this is really long.
M.: I didn't go to work today. I just sat on the porch and read that and got drunk. Then I came here and got drunk. I think when I leave I'll go home and get drunk. And maybe call her.
F.: Yeah, all bad ideas. You didn't ask, though. Can I read this?
M.: Share in my misery.
F.: Her handwriting is nice.
M.: Say something else nice about her, why don't you?
F.: Sorry. (censored) woman.
M.: Thank you.
F.: 'Dear M.,' she writes.
B.: Beer. Ale.
F.: Thanks. Barman, you ever get a 'dear M.' letter?
B.: (grins) Nah. I write em.
M.: Lucky you.
F.: 'Dear M.,' it says. 'I have been thinking about you an awful lot lately, and thought that I should probably sit down and write you this letter about the things I've been thinking about.' ... Starts off pretty good.
B.: She thinks a lot, huh?
M.: She's got a Ph.D. in something. Muskrat mating habits, nuclear fusion engineering. I dunno. She couldn't even make a grilled cheese sandwich, though. Always burned the (censored) bread.
B.: Ouch.
F.: Wait, let me read.
B.: My guest. I'll just...stand here and clean glasses.
M.: You do that. Give me fourteen more ales, too.
B.: How about one?
M.: One it is!
F.: 'Writing this letter is difficult, as you might imagine. It's been, after all, one year to the day since ... the fiasco, for lack of a better word.' Man, she called it 'the fiasco.'
B.: In my day they called it a girl standin up her man at the altar.
M.: I call it the worst day of my life. At least until today.
F.: 'I always loved you, you know. But when it came time, I couldn't see us together. Not forever. Every old couple I know is secretly unhappy. The women all tolerate their doddering husbands, and frankly, I could see you becoming one of those type of men. The kind that says nothing at all, just absorbs everything and learns nothing.'
B.: Ouch.
F.: Man.
B.: Well, don't stop.
F.: 'Marriage scared me then. But I've grown -- '
M.: In a year she's grown. A year. We dated seven years and a year she's apart from me and she grows.
F.: ' -- I've grown in the past year and I've decided to take the step I couldn't take with you. His name is Paul. He's a chemistry professor.'
M.: Chemistry.
B.: Obviously he's got some with her.
M.:
B.: Sorry.
F.: 'We're getting married in four weeks in Barrister. I thought the healing process might allow you to come. I hope you will. You've always been important to me.'
M.: A minute ago she always loved me. Now I'm just important.
F.: Man. It just goes on and on.
M.: Just read from some random spot.
F.: Page three, line...seventeen. '...ever understand why I wanted to wait for children until I was thirty. Paul, of course, understands, because we both believe in accomplishing our life's goals before creating new lives that have their own goals. Having children is, in a way, quitting before you've finished something, you see. We'd be giving up on what we started, and that's just not us. Paul wants to teach at Berkeley, and they've been considering him. And me, well. You know all of the things that I want. And I'm close, I really am. Paul's so supportive.'
M.: She wrote me a letter like she'd write to her mother. I'm not her mother. I'm not her confidante.
B.: Why do women think that after a breakup the guys are supposed to become their best friends?
M.: It sucks.
F.: It's the same reason they think gay guys are the best kind of friends -- they think there's no physical attraction, and no danger of disrupting a good friendship.
M.: She's still hot. I hate it, but she's still hot. She gave me a photo of the two of them.
F.: A photo?
B.: Crap, that's cold.
F.: Let me see.
M.: I hate them both.
F.: He doesn't look like a chemistry professor.
B.: He looks like...dang, that guy who was in that movie with that monster.
F.: Dennis Quaid?
B.: No, a monster, not a dragon.
M.: He looks like Matthew McConaughey.
B.: Yeah!
F.: What movie was Matthew McConaughey in that had a monster in it?
B.: Uh. That movie with Jodie Foster.
F.: Contact? There's no monster in Contact.
M.: Drummond.
B.: Yeah, see?
F.: Drummond?
M.: Leo Drummond. Tom Skerritt.
F.: ... Fine. You win.
M.: Look, I need a ride home.
B.: Don't drink any when you get there.
F.: Here, I'll take you. You want this?
M.: No.
B.: Good move. Want me to burn it?
M.: Just get rid of it.
F.: See you, B.
M.: Bye.
F.: Here, I'll grab the door. You can barely stand.
M.: Don't take me home.
F.: Look, you've had too much to drink. I'm not going to sit here while you drink m--
M.: Take me to her house.
F.: Leah?
M.: I have to tell her something.
F.: Bad move, man. No, let's get you home.
M.: No, I have to congratulate her.
F.: No. You can call her tomorrow.
M.: (whispers) You can help me bury her body in the woods.
F.: (laughs) Sure.
M.: F.?
F.: Yeah.
M.: I would like to die now.
F.: Wait til I get you home. I don't want to have to dump you over a bridge.
M.: Okay. F.?
F.: Yeah.
M.: Am I home yet?
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