Imaginationland

$ stands at the door with the last of his belongings, an empty living room set is dimly lit. Sitting on the couch, W has a joint ready and rolled.

$: I can't do this anymore. I have to leave.
W: Why? [Lights joint] What happened? [Inhales]
$: I can't keep working on a relationship that isn't sound.
W: [Exhales] What are you even talking about? [Offers it to $]
$: Exactly this [Dejects the joint]...The fact that there's nothing here. I'm imagining there's more to this picture, over-analyzing. I read between the lines, when I shouldn't, and find myself lost all-over again when it comes to you and me.
W: What are you imagining?
$: Love...But it's intangible, incorrigible, inept.
W: You're my friend [Beat] I don't know what to tell you other than that.
$: That's why I must go.
W: So you're gonna leave? Just like that? Out the door, never to be back?
$: I've no other choice.
W: Well...who's gonna make me fuckin' breakfast tomorrow morning?
$: [Pause] Maybe someone who you can love.

They stare at each other, each inhaling to say something but no words come out.

$: I'm sorry, goodbye. [$ leaves the room]

W sits solemnly on the couch while the joint billows out in his hand. Lights fade.

lost

Sometimes I lose myself to a different realm. I have to talk myself back into reality, remind myself, 'I have a purpose.' I waver continuously, pulled by different forces of silence. Is it laughter? Is it music? Is it words?...I could never figure. I feel rudimentary, unformed.

Walking on asphalt I my consciousness travels to another time. Back to when the universe was denser, the stars much closer together. Flecks in the asphalt form constellations long lost. The density of the young universe carried sound waves from galaxy to galaxy. There's music, again.

I am a rough draft.