EXT. GAS STATION - DAY

                Lawrence, bearded and filthy checks his voice-mail on a
                pay phone.  It's Robin.

                                      ROBIN (V.O.)
                                (filtered)
                          Hey Cross.  Psshhh, I don't know.  Just 
                          wondering what’s up, why you haven’t called 
                          in...a while.  It's um.  Fuck what time is it?  
                          I don't have..a..watch. It's NOW!  And I 
                          have a few allegories for you.



                EXT. BACK PORCH - AFTERNOON

                Robin sits in a rocking chair on a baby blue painted porch
                overlooking an Arizona back yard.  

                There's that patchy craby grass, a bright blooming orange
                tree with it's rotten droppings and various small over 
                manicured shrubs partially covering a wooden fence.

                The sun is overpowering.  The the scene is enough for the
                people in the movie theatre to warm their hands by.

                Robin rolls a cigarette.  She's able to do this with one
                hand.  With her other she scratches a cat that's runs
                behind the rocking chair.

                                      ROBIN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                          My cat's fond of stalking in the
                          mornings.  He's too slow for the birds
                          but the lizards are slow and everywhere.

                Lites her cigarette.

                                      ROBIN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                          He's taken to bringing dead lizards to my
                          doorstep.  Sometimes right into the
                          house.  And lucky me, I get to sweep it
                          up.

                Something moves in the bushes.  She notices and gets up. 
                Walks into the yard.

                                      ROBIN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                          When I look at those dead things, I don't
                          feel sad.  I feel angry.  It's natural
                          selection. The big stuff kills the little
                          stuff.  But I'm not a big fan of nature,
                          survival of the fittest, yada yada.

                In the bushes, Robin finds a tiny lizard.  Popping it's
                head up and down in the shade.  It breathes hard. 
                Terrified.

                                      ROBIN (V.O.) (CONT'D)
                          Maybe cats kill lizards.  But the little
                          animal we seemed to have created doesn't. 
                          Maybe it's cunning.  Maybe it knows how
                          to run away or blend into it's
                          environment.

                JAMES (27), Robin's roommate, enters via the back door.

                                      JAMES
                          Hey, phone call doof.

                                      ROBIN
                                (cigarette in teeth)
                          Who is it?

                                      JAMES
                          I don't know.

                Robin looks back.  Back to the lizard.  Cigarette burning
                away in the center of her mouth.

                                      ROBIN (V.O.)
                          So, I sit here.  Staring at our lizard
                          and knowing I can kill it.  I don't. 
                          What the fuck is that?  Darwin's a crock. 
                          I think we're rooting for the little
                          guys.



                INT. HOUSE - AFTERNOON

                Robin takes the phone.

                                      ROBIN
                          Hello?  
                                (hope escapes her face)
                          Oh hi Mom.

                Robin glares at her roommate.

                                      ROBIN (CONT'D)
                          Good ...  School's good ... I know ...

                Cross walks up behind Robin all out of focus.  He takes
                the phone from Robin's ear that's being talked off.

                He hangs up the phone.  Robin turns around.  Sees Cross
                standing there.  He's tan, he looks good.

                                      CROSS
                          I'm thirsty.

                                      ROBIN
                                (stunned)
                          I've got tea.



                INT. KITCHEN - AFTERNOON

                Cross sits at the table.

                While they talk:  Robin opens every cabinet looking for a
                glass.  Finally she just washes one that looks like a
                used jelly jar and pours Cross some tea.

                                      CROSS
                          You know I'm not really here.

                                      ROBIN
                          It would seem silly to believe otherwise. 
                          I can never find a glass when I have
                          imaginary company.

                                      CROSS
                          You said you had allegories.  Meaning
                          more than one.  You only left one on my
                          machine.

                                      ROBIN
                          Well, I didn't want to take up all the
                          space on the tape.  Or whatever they
                          use... You want ice?

                Cross looks at her.

                                      ROBIN (CONT'D)
                          You're imaginary.  I'll get you ice.

                Opens the freezer.  Fishes around.

                                      CROSS
                          What's the other one?  Come on, I want to
                          hear it.

                Slams the freezer door.  Slaps down the drink like it's a
                saloon.  It slides from one side of the table to the
                other and crashes on the floor, spilling everywhere.

                                      ROBIN
                          Fuck!  I'm sorry.  I don't have any idea
                          what I'm doing.

                Grabs a towel.  Kneels down.  The cat runs over and
                starts to lap the tea.

                                      ROBIN (CONT'D)
                                (lifts him out of the way)
                          No, Patch, you don't want to get cut. 
                          This is for people.

                Cleans the glass.  Sopping the liquid, sweeping the
                shards and dust-panning them into the trash while she
                says the following.

                                      ROBIN (CONT'D)
                          I love books that make me sad.  Somehow 
                          (I don't think I'm a masochist) they feel
                          more true.  So lets say I have this book
                          in my hands. It's a book only insofar as
                          I can read it. And when I do read it, the
                          words are words. I see them: 'she looked
                          like a' and 'then it rained' and 'I saw
                          her pick violets' Fucking words, right?
                          Just fucking words.  Right. But let's say
                          I read the introduction in a coffee shop
                          and decided to keep reading it when I
                          went home. Let's say I got to the love
                          scene in the middle of the night, when I
                          was scared, but I kept reading. Let's say
                          I stayed up until I finished. By the end
                          of the book I'm as tired as if I had just
                          been through what the characters had been
                          through.  I wasn't lonely when I picked
                          up the book, but I'm lonely now because
                          I'm not IN the book, because the book
                          conjured up people around me and now it's
                          done conjuring. Now most people would
                          say: Just pick up another book and start
                          over again. Right? That's what normally
                          happens. But what if you had a book that
                          kept going? What if the book was half
                          real, half unreal? And better still, what
                          if the book was a sad story? We're both a
                          sucker for those. A beautiful story, a
                          character so similar to yourself that
                          sometimes you don't know the difference.
                          And another character, a half-pretended
                          person that is just real enough to make
                          you laugh when you need to. It's perfect
                          and tragic and just your kind of story.
                          People would tell you it's dangerous to
                          read like that. People would tell you to
                          get your head back in the 'real' world.
                          But you know what I say? Fuck the real
                          world--it's such a boring story. Fuck it
                          every time.

                Robin looks up.  Cross, of course, is gone.  Her face
                pinches up like she's holding in a wave of tears.  

                She settles without a drop.  Walks out of the kitchen.  



                INT. HOUSE - AFTERNOON

                Grabs the phone off the cradle and her mom is magically
                still talking on the other end.  She listens.  Eyes
                closed.