stillsostrange

SCENE: A low-lit room. A WRITER sits nursing her drink, looking furtive and nervous.

Enter to her THE WRONG BOOK. THE WRONG BOOK is sexy and well-dressed. Stoic but sensitive. Not at all the sort of book to ever wear a stained wife-beater and ask someone to microwave his pot pie. They exchange a long glance.

THE WRONG BOOK: I thought you'd be here.

WRITER: I shouldn't be, but...

TWB: I understand. I feel it too.

WRITER: I mean it this time. I have a deadline now. And he has an awful temper.

TWB: Does he--

WRITER: No! Of course not. But, well, the advance is awfully nice.

TWB: I can take care of you.

WRITER: Not like this. It's...a three book deal.

TWB: I thought I meant something to you. Haven't I been here all this time?

WRITER: And you're still not finished! I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Of course I care about you. About us. But we can't meet like this anymore. At least for a few months.

TWB: I won't stand in your way. But remember, if he ever hurts you, true love won't desert you.

WRITER: ... Did you just quote Journey at me?

TWB: Hey, I'm your book.

WRITER: I have to go.

Exeunt