The Treatment: Misconception
February 9, 2010
(We join two men in the still dark hours of the morning on their long walk home from a bar. They are not drunk, though the freshly fallen snow affects their footing in such a way that they might be perceived as such. The streets are a marriage of static and diamonds under the pale orange glow of the streetlamps, and as we creep up behind the pair, their footprints slashing parentheses in the snow behind them, we hear ANDREW finish his anecdote)
ANDREW: Then, as soon as I’m about to finish, she fakes like she’s going to slap me in the nut sack. You know, kind of fake swats at it, like this? It’s scary as hell. And even though I’m all ready to tuck up my sack and get the fuck out of there, she just giggles all evil and gets right back into it. I think she may get off from it a little.
ISAAC (shaking his head, eyes down): Shit, man, that bitch sounds bucking futs.
(Beat)
ANDREW: Wait, fucking butts?
ISAAC: What?
ANDREW: What?
(The moment expires and they walk home in silence, each man realizing for the very first time that night exactly how much snow has fallen)
FIN
hahaaa