W. When we gonna get out of this mess?
M. No time soon.
W. Think so?
M. Can’t tell. It’s been like this for too long.
W. Do we keep trying?
M. I hope so.
W. Baby…we need to.
M. For what?
W. For the kids.
M. They’re fine without us.
W. No. Not yet.
M. He’s 21. About time for him to figure it out.
W. But you know he hasn’t.
M. Not my fault.
W. But…
M. Listen, I’m not sitting around holding this kid’s hand for another ten years.
W. You don’t have to. But you can’t just drop him either.
M. I sure can. About time, too.
W. Where we gonna go?
M. No we. You stay here.
W. Where you going?
M. Leila’s house. She has that room in the basement.
W. What if her kids ask…about why you’re there.
M. I’ll tell them.
W. Jesus.
M. I thought we decided.
W. We did. But…they’re babies.
M. Babies need some truth, too.
W. You’re out of your mind.
M. You like it.
W. Once.
M. I gotta go.
W. I know.
Man packs his duffel and heads for the door.
M. You know what?
W. What?
M. I’m not going over there.
W. Where you going?
M. I’m gonna take a trip. I’m gonna go…rent a car. And just drive.
W. Where?
M. Whatever. I just—I just miss that. Rolling down the highway, seeing those little yellow things pop up in the middle of the road, over and over. And just…driving. Slow, and looking around.
W. I never did that.
M. Yeah. I know.
