approaches, then sits beside him. his voice is soothing, but with the tiniest hint of exasperation that comes with being slightly ahead of everyone.
i used to hate it. now i like it.
i want to know why you need that scary guy in your house.
then what good is he?
is that a problem?
i'm loyal to things that make me happy.
well, you're certainly not a person.
no. you're not specific enough to be a person. you're more like a vibe.
it's not a knock.
it's an observation. like: i'm hungry. when are we eating?
what kind of food?
why?
like you.
you demand to be served. a fork fetishist.
for some, eating is a sensual experience. the sensual experience.
oh, god.
okay.
italian?
italian.
not who, food. should we get italian.
as long as i don't have to pass gordon again. i'm never ready for that.
you have the same posters.
is lounging in the large tub. staring dreamily at a couple of framed posters on the walls: more 60's psychedelia.
that you have down at your office.
i like the colors.
it must've been a time. a golden moment.
shit.
hello? hey! great. you got my message? yeah. no, crestview terrace, not crestview place. yeah, there's like three different ways up the hill; the quick way is to bear to the right. sure. okay. okay. 'bye!
that's me.
makes her way across the room to valentine.
hey, i thought you weren't a buffet person.
valentine approaches and begins talking to her, low. after a few moments of conversation, they both look toward:
i've lived in l.a. all my life, i've never done this drive.
nothing. i guess it's hard to pass on this road.
just feels like the car behind has been following us the longest time.
uh, you've heard of knocking?
why, what --
okay.
what's going on?
we think?
did somebody call the cops?
why not?
you guys are fucking nuts, i'm calling --
hey.
where are you going?
has just stuck a kitchen knife into wilson's back.
hits the ground. she won't be retaliating.