The Hunger (for the Transcendental)

Oxley - Son of a traveling magician and his assistant. Grew up in rural trailer with abandoned Bedouin north african heritage. How he came to exist in that community in the United States is unknown, a very unlikely mystery. Interesting mannerisms where he looks over his glasses without being ostentatiously condescending but somehow projecting a senior judgment of matters at hand.

Hammond - New York Catholic. Not Irish, not Italian. Caucasian, loves rhythm and prone to absurd utterances of spontaneity and playfulness.

Nox - Obnoxious young American trash. Given to superficial studies and summaries, skimming books and gleaning the essence. Dark and italian, but white. He has a treacherous nose.





Scene I





In the basement of 9 Washington Drive, three friends unite and conspire with a mischievous sense of brotherhood. The fluorescent light gives the grimy, dirty, and broken linoleum and bare concrete a postapocalyptic feel. There are 4 or 5 computers, several of them uncased and in a sort of pile of their components all running and humming and blowing the smoke and dirt around. The ashtray is beyond overflowing like a volcano. There are piles of electronica and abandoned clothes, along with items that have been forfeited to the disowned clutter. Their complexions are a pale bluish sick, as they aren't bathing regularly and they habitually chainsmoke under the fluorescent light without sleeping for days.

Oxley: You know what these are? (holds up a grooming kit that was complete with lock picking tools)

Nox: For cutting your nails?

Oxley: Hah, no they're for picking locks!

Nox: Oh shit! I read an MIT article about these! Pin rakes, tension bars, etc., right?!

Oxley: You read that? Hah!

Hammond: Let me see those!

Oxley: Dude, you can -not- borrow them. You have to be a locksmith to have them, or they're illegal.

Nox & Hammond: (look at each other) Uhm, you're not a locksmith.

Oxley: But my dad is. If you want to use them to learn about something, OK, but you will have no "practical applications".

Hammond: Ok, let me see them.

(They practice opening a master lock, then move on to the door, then move on to picking both locks on the door, then move on to trying to do it in the amount of time in which one can hold their breath)

Oxley: We have to pay the electric bill.

Hammond: Yes, yes we do. I don't have any money until next Friday.

Oxley: You can't ask your parents to cover it?

Hammond: Can't you ask -your- parents?

Nox: Aren't you supposed to have this stuff taken care of when you're a university student?

Hammond: If your family is rich, maybe.

Oxley: My family are -not- rich. Our home is mobile.

Nox: I lived in a trailer before. The trailer park is a magnificent place.

Oxley: Well, trailer parks are white trash. My trailer sits on half an acre of land.

Nox: So you're upper crust trailer trash? Is that like empty Dom Perignon bottles, empty caviar boxes?

Hammond: You're both rednecks. I'm from NYC.

Nox: Queens is the trailer park of NYC.

Oxley: No, maybe it's Staten Island or Jersey. Even Long Island.

Hammond: Long Island is not NYC's trailer park. NYC doesn't -have- trailer parks. We have projects.

Nox: Projects are the trailer parks of the city. Urban trailer parks.

Oxley: Except they're more culturally diverse than trailer parks.

Hammond: Whatever, how are we going to pay the electric? I think we can use these lock picks to help with the electric bill, and I don't mean selling them.

Nox: Yes. Hmmm. What lock would it be profitable to open? What building or storefront would have valuables or money not in a safe. I don't think robbery is OK, but burglary has a certain je ne sais quoi about it, as long as the treasure is worth it. I mean, the profit has to compete with the negative liability, in this case a jail term.

Oxley: What about parking meters?

Hammond: What about them? You can't pick those locks with a lockpick set made up of a tension bar and some pin rakes. Besides, it's just change.

Nox: How -much- change? How often are they collected? Can we look that up?

Oxley: Hammond, you're right, but we also have a sledge hammer.

Nox: Uhm, this didn't end well for Cool Hand Luke. It didn't end well at all.

Hammond: Yeah, beating the shit out of a parking meter with a sledge hammer isn't a very easily coverable endeavor. The idea is already projecting a cinema of the plastic seats in the backs of cop cars and hand cuffs and hars in my imagination.

Oxley: What about if we took the parking meters -off-, brought them back here and beat them open with a sledge hammer?

Nox: How do we take them "off" without a sledge hammer?

Oxley: I know how.

Hammond: Do tell.

Oxley: Come on, I'll show you.

Nox: *looks up heavenward* This will be interesting.

Hammond: On the way we can scope out sources of electric bill money.

Oxley: You're not bringing the picks, we're already conspiring to break the law and steal municipal property.

Hammond: Exactly, so what's the difference?

Nox: *looks up heavenward* I'm afraid that rhetoric will be answered. I pray it won't.

Oxley: Bad idea.

Hammond: Your credibility as a judge of good and bad ideas isn't very well established, given the consideration that you're spearheading a campaign to -steal- -parking- -meters-.

Nox: In court, we can make the defense that we were doing the public a service. No one likes parking meters.

Hammond: I'm minoring in criminal justice. That is not a good defense.

Oxley: It's better not to get caught.

Nox: Maybe the judge will be feeling philosophical

The leave the sledge hammer, and Hammond pockets the picks. Nox follows along behind Oxley. They go out to a strange car.

Nox: Whose car is this?

Hammond: My girlfriend's.

Oxley: I can't believe she's letting you use her car.

Hammond smiles.

Nox climbs into the back seat. Hammond turns the music up and pulls out with the jerky aggressiveness of ambition.

Hammond: Where to?

Oxley: We'll need to find a bar or pole. You'll see why when we find it.

Nox: This mystery business is getting annoying.

Hammond: You're always annoying.

Nox: Park behind the bank on main street, there are aluminum fence poles against the back wall of the gymnasium thing place.

Oxley: That's perfect. An aluminum fence pole will work perfect as long as it is longer than 6 feet.

They pull in and park. Oxley and Nox walk towards a small alley behind a large building. On the ground there is a cache of unused aluminum poles, covered in muck and leaves. They grab one and arrange it in the back seat with Nox.

Hammond: How are we going to use this?

Oxley: Leverage. It will provide leverage.

Hammond chews his bottom lip.

Hammond: We're going to unscrew it?

Nox: What?

Oxley: Yup. Let's go to the parking lot behind Diderot dorm. There are meters there and it's quiet.

Nox: Quiet may not be a good thing.

Hammond: It's not like we're using a -sledge hammer-!

Oxley: Just go.

They arrive at the parking lot and back into a spot. There is a meter. Oxley puts the pole between the two parking meters on the one pole and begins to push the very end of it. It gives.

Nox: Holy SHIT! We're gonna be RICH!

Hammond: We'll be lucky if we can pay the electric bill.

Oxley: It's spinning freely. I don't think it's attached anymore.

Nox wiggles it with his hands.

Hammond: Try to lift it up?

Nox lifts it off the pole. It is free.

Nox: It's freaking -heavy-!

Oxley: Put it in the trunk!

Nox drops it in the trunk and hears the change rattle around in the heavy cast iron.

Hammond: How many should we get?

Oxley: Let's get one more and then see how much is in them. If we need more we can come out and get more. The less we're driving around with, the less trouble we're inviting.

Hammond: Good point.

Nox: We're not gonna be rich?!

Oxley shakes his head and smiles at Hammond.

Hammond: Shut up.

They return to 9 Washington Dr. and unload the parking meters, dumping them on the floor of the wrecked basement they dwelled in. Nox studies them carefully, looking for a weak point.

Nox: Could we pry this door open with like a screwdriver?

Hammond: We could try. I don't know but I don't think so.

Oxley: Let's just bash them open with the sledge hammer.

Nox: Will that work?

Oxley: Have you ever used a sledge hammer before?

Nox: No. I've used a big hammer before, even a mallet but never a sledge hammer.

Hammond: Me either.

Oxley: Well, guess how it works.

Oxley lifts the hammer up and drops it in a mighty blow. The iron cracks and the hammer bounces back up.

Hammond: Damn.

Nox: I can see shiny!

Oxley: Wanna give it a try?

Nox: Hell yeah! John Henry's got nothing on me!

Hammond: Faggot.

Nox: Watch out!

Nox makes a heavy blow on the other meter. It dents the metal but does not crack it.

Hammond: Let me do it.

Hammond makes a similarly herculean effort, and the iron cracks.

Nox: I loosened it up for you.

Oxley: *Wipes sweat from forehead* Now for the other two.

They open the remaining meters and then shake them to get the quarters out of the locked receptacle. About 90 dollars in quarters and dimes and nickels was arrayed in a puddle of change on the dirty floor.

Hammond: Don't steal any, Nox. This is for the electric so that you can check your email account for email you never get from our computers. This is so that our alarm clocks will go off to let us know that we should be going to class instead of staying in bed because we stayed up too late on our computers. This is so it will be warm when you sleep on our sofa and steal our roommates' food and smoke our cigarettes. You need to get a job. Don't steal the quarters.

Nox: Wanna go get more parking meters.

Oxley: No.

Hammond: No.

Nox: OK. Can I have a cigarette?

Oxley: I guess.

Nox: Thanks.

Oxley: Will you go pay the electric tomorrow?

Hammond: In quarters?

Oxley: It's money, right?

Hammond shakes head.

Nox: You can maybe get the gas station to change it into bills.

Hammond: 90 dollars worth of quarters?

Oxley: I don't think so.

Nox: You can go to more than one gas station.

Oxley: Like 45 of them?

Nox: I don't know, I'm just trying to help you find a way.

Hammond: That's very nice of you. Oxley, If you can get these changed into bills I will take the paper money to pay the electric.

Oxley: That's not very helpful. I came up with this idea.

Hammond: And the electric bill is in your name.

Nox: Give the quarters to me and I'll get them changed.

Hammond: No way.

Oxley: You can take it to the bank in the morning.

Hammond: Yes, -one- could take them to the bank. Where is there a citybank?

Oxley: Fine, fuckit. I'll take the quarters to pay the electric bill.

Hammond goes up the steps. Nox looks at Oxley, smiles, and puts out his cigarette. Then he follows Hammond.

Oxley: (to himself) Something's got to give. I can't live like this.

Hammond: (to himself) God, I can't deal with this.

Nox: (to the window) Still, I am here and getting older and nothing is fun anymore.

Nox: Hammond, I need to go out.

Hammond: Ok. You don't live here. Go wherever you want.

Nox: You alright?

Hammond: Not really.

Nox: Something wrong?

Hammond: Not really.

Nox: Ok, bye.

Nox leaves. He stops when he gets to the suburban street and realizes that he'll be walking towards a main street he doesn't love and stares up at the sky, dimmed by the lights of the suburban hell.

Nox: God, I don't know what I'm doing, where I'm going. I don't know why I'm alive or what this is. I don't know anything, and it hurts.





Scene II - A year later





Hammond wakes up on his twin mattress on the floor. The window lets in a blue cast around the plastic blind. Clothes cover the floor of his half of the room. Oxley's half is only marginally less messy. Oxley isn't there. Nox looks over from the top of the stairs.

Nox: Are you awake?

Hammond: That's a stupid question.

Nox: There are no stupid questions, only --

Hammond: Except that one. That's a stupid question.

Nox: Aren't you going to class?

Hammond: I never go to class.

Nox: Isn't that bad?

Hammond: Another stupid question. I would try to ask less questions if I were you.

Nox: Funny. You're always a jerk then. See? Not a question.

Hammond: Do you have a lighter?

Nox: Do you have a cigarette?

Hammond: On the desk. Light me one.

Nox lights the cigarettes and sits on the edge of Oxley's bed. He hears a muffled, painful sounding cat cry.

Nox: There's no way around this question. Is your cat stuck in the bathroom?

Hammond: You did -not- have to ask that question. "Stuck" would be one way to phrase it, yes. "Quarantined" would be another.

Nox: Why did you quarantine your cat?

Hammond: It's not -my- cat, and he's diseased.

Nox: Oxley's cat is diseased?

Hammond: He's got the mange. It's contagious.

Nox: Can I let him out?

Hammond: That defeats the purpose of the quarantine.

Nox: I have to piss.

Hammond: Piss then. Just don't let him out.

Nox: Ok, man.

Hammond: Why are you here so early?

Nox: It's 6:00 at night.

Hammond: Hmm. Why are you here then?

Nox: I have an idea. You are the best candidate I can think of. Besides, you have access to the lock pick set.

Hammond: What's your idea.

Nox: Well, let me tell you a story. About two years ago I was up at like 5AM. My friend Ted mentioned ketamine and I started thinking about veterinarians. It struck me that one could procure ketamine from veterinarians, eliminating the retail expense and the ordeal of tracking down someone with a supply.

Hammond: Revelational! And?

Nox: So we concocted a plan where I, being the sucker, would enter a vet's office during the middle of the night, locate the ketamine and exit. My burglar costume was a track suit and running shoes, because my getaway would be disguised as an athletic runner training at dawn.

Hammond: Did it work.

Nox: Yes, it did. The thing is, entry was through a window that wasn't locked. I didn't break anything so it was pretty quiet. The dogs did bark because they surely heard me, but they were caged in a different part of the office, the kennel. It made me very nervous.

Hammond: You got in through a window?

Nox: Yeah. It was all too easy. I found what I was looking for, put it in a back pack and jogged my way home at sunrise. When I got home I prepared a batch of that great magic, that modern metaphysical elixir.

Nox: So I was thinking that we could look for an office that had a back door, one that wasn't alarmed and we could unlock it with the picks.

Hammond: How would we find out which ones didn't have an alarm?

Nox: Well, magnetic devices on the windows, stickers that say "alarm", etc. We could also enter the building, run around and try to set off any motion sensors and then leave and wait for an hour to see if anyone showed up. If no one does, and there's no alarm going off, we can then go in and take our time in finding the goodies.

Hammond: Sounds crazy. I think I like it.

Nox: I am from here, so I know of a few, but let's look in the phone book for ones outside of town. They are less likely to be well secured and alarmed.

Hammond: I'm not sure that's true, but we can do some reconnaissance. That's not illegal.

Nox: Nothing is illegal if you don't get caught.

Hammond: I'm not sure that's true either.

Nox: Where's the phone book?

Hammond: I don't know.

Nox goes downstairs and looks around the small apartment. He finds a telephone book on the counter. Hammond comes downstairs dressing on the way.

Nox: Here is one. I know where it is, I used to live right near there. It's not too far, but it's far enough outside of town.

Hammond: Really? You're not lying?

Nox: No, I'm not lying. We should check that one and look for one or two more that can be scoped in one circuitous trip.

Hammond: Good thinking.

Nox: Ok, so let's see what we can find.

They set out in Hammond's little japanese sports coupe. They park in a lot opposite their target. They walk up to the front of it, where it is paned with glass.

Nox: *shielding his eyes to peer into the office* I don't see any motion detectors. There's no sticker on the door.

Hammond: That's not definite.

Nox: But this is a really good target. Let's come back at like 2AM.

Hammond: Do you want to look around the back?

Nox: Oh yeah. I should have thought of that.

Hammond: *shakes head* Yes, you should have.

Nox: It looks good, we can do these locks in time that I could hold my breath for.

Hammond: Well, don't hold your breath, let's just not get caught.

Nox: Speed is of the essence.

Hammond: Not getting caught is of the essence.

Nox: Let's talk about if we do get caught.

Hammond: If we get caught, Nox, we -do- -not- -talk- about -anything- to the police.

Nox: I agree. I don't trust the police, they're not my friends. As far as police go, honesty is not the best policy. The best policy is to say -nothing-.

Hammond: Too right.

They drive back to the apartment.

Nox: Do you have any black clothes, for camouflage?

Hammond: If I have any, I'm wearing them.

Nox: Ok. Do you have a black coat or anything?

Hammond: Oxley may have one. Check the pile of laundry in the closet.

They smoke cigarettes and gather materials like rope, a knife, a backpack, tools, paper, pens, etc.

Nox: You know Hammond, I'm pretty much a nerd.

Hammond: I guess I am as well.

Nox: We have to do this with every bit of analytical thinking and logic and conservative strategy we can conjure up. Our only advantage is the wiliness of our addled and skeletal psyches. Sometimes I feel like my brain is an ancient sacred ritual where the skeletal notions dance in a magic circle to conjure up old gods and forces that govern the universe and my physical form as a wanderer through it and a mage of it.

Hammond: *shakes head slowly* This is sort of some kind of spiritual metaphysical adventure for you, isn't it?

Nox: I couldn't bear to just be a man, living in the United States of America, alternately embraced and estranged by our culture and ideals, morals, and society's judges and their irrelevance. To be mortal is a curse, one that is only broken by death. The very death, the sure and unquestioned fateful end of me as a mortal would be the only remedy by which the curse of mortality is lifted. Only then should I be free. Until then I seek the transcendental, that which lifts me above the rites of appetites, the burdens of eating and relieving, sleeping and waking, bathing and trying to desperately to understand what everyone else seems to understand about life and themselves. Whatever this mystery is it is lost on me. To make matters worse, I have practiced the rituals of the groups -- even "flocks" of us as men that are faithed to be borne of verite and divinity. All of this, all of my existence is relegated to lonely exile from the great and revered trust, the confidence that we as a collective are performing in orchestra the will, the geometry, the wish and the natural synchronization that the universe and its most profound conductor would issue harmony and pax in. I am at a loss, my friend, as to what to do with this man that I am, this life that I am, for a meaning I do not feel.

Hammond: So you want to burglarize a vet and take ketamine?

Nox: Shaman have long used potions and poisons to see the universe, to become closer to god.

Hammond: I don't think God wants you to steal ketamine from a vet.

Nox: I am not sure your God is god as he is.

Hammond: You're a Heathen.

Nox: You're a Catholic.

Catholic: So I am. Are you ready?

Heathen: Aye aye!

They head out, equipped for the predation upon an institution dedicated to providing for the health, recovery, and well-being of animals.

Heathen: I have a great respect for veterinarians.

Catholic: Apparently you do. You're about to steal from one.

Heathen: That's a matter of circumstance, a minor conflict that I reconcile with the speculation that this veterinarian can absorb a loss of less than 500 dollars worth of pharmaceuticals. If they have insurance, that may even cover it. I have much less reverence for insurance policy vendors.

Catholic: Sure. Go ahead with that, keep telling yourself.

Heathen: Want to call a priest? Want to call a clergyman you address as "Father"? Do you think he'd be able to assist in the ethical quandry we're toting along with us as we come closer to the target of our criminal enterprise?

Catholic: Funny. You're charging me that I can just confess and pay absolution.

Heathen: Whatever you need to put the wind in your sails.

Catholic: Ok, this time let's park across the street. We can see the office from over there but they won't be able to see us lurking in the shadows.

Heathen: Fine.

They park and walk as non-criminally as they can imagine someone who was not in the midst of criminal engagement might.

Catholic: So the idea is that we pick these locks in the back door, enter, run around waving our arms to try to set off any alarm, and run out and observe from across the street to see if any law enforcement respond to any silent alarms.

Heathen: God be with us. *smirk*

Catholic: Let's do it then.

Heathen: Cover me while I pick the locks.

Catholic: *whistles*

Heathen: *freaks out, startles and looks around* WHAT?! (whispered loud)

Catholic: What? I was just whistling. It makes us look less conspicuous.

Heathen: No, no it doesn't. We're breaking in. There is no inconspicuous. At best stand close to me so that an observer can't obviously see that our late night entry into the vet's office isn't any more unusual than it would be at 3AM.

Catholic: Ok. If I see something, I'll whistle.

Heathen: Fine. Just whistle quietly.

Nox unlocks the doors and opens them. They both seem surprised that it worked. They enter and pull the door shut behind them.

Heathen: Now run around, every room!

Catholic runs into the front office and grabs the cash out of the register. Heathen runs around in the surgery and back room office. They meet back at the door and then hustle out, leaving it unlocked. They hustle across the street to the car, sit in it and light cigarettes. Catholic puts the stereo on quietly.

Catholic: This is crazy.

Heathen: But you know it's smart. If we wait an hour or an hour and a half, any police should have arrived. At this hour, with no traffic, they should be here in 15 minutes or less.

Catholic: If they do, at least we won. I grabbed this money from the register out front!

Heathen: How much is it?

Catholic: Let's count it. 1,2,3,4 hundred. 10, 30, 50, 5, 6...456 dollars!

Heathen: Wicked. 50/50, right?

Catholic: You don't even need to say that.

Heathen: Well, I've known some unethical criminals. It seems that honor among thieves is a dying tradition.

Catholic: Well, you're my friend right?

Heathen: Yes, I'm your friend.

Catholic: Then let me explain that friends don't beat other friends. We're in this together.

Heathen: Most of this plan was my idea.

Catholic: What?! Fuck -you-. -We- came up with this plan. -We- are making it work, and -We- are not getting caught together. So it is -our- idea. I should give you 40 and keep 60 for that remark.

Heathen: Ok look, it was both of our idea.

Catholic: What time is it now? 03:11. We can look at going back in to grab the goodies at 04:11.

Heathen: That was my idea.

Catholic: No, that was -not- your idea. I -just- said it!

Heathen: Ok man, relax. I just meant that was how I proposed doing it. It was your idea to go back at 04:11, but it was my idea that we go back in an hour. So it became our idea. I meant that it was -also- my idea and that I agree.

They smoke more cigarettes and lay back in their seats keeping tired eyes on the target.

Heathen: Every time a car drives by they make me nervous.

Catholic: Sounds like you're the one that needs to relax.

Heathen: You're right, I believe that when you fear things happening and you cultivate psychic anxiety it is broadcast and somehow causes problems to crop up. We do -not- need any problems, not when the game has stakes that pay out prison for the wrong move.

Catholic: Can you stop talking? Just relax and breathe. I want to calm my head down.

Heathen: Sure, I'll quiet down. For a little while I'll think of ease and winning. Kind of like in Ghostbusters except the other way around.

The greenish-blue LED clock above the center console reads 03:51. They are calm.

Heathen: Wanna go inside?

Catholic: No. Seriously brov sometimes you piss me off. We -have- to play by the rules. For as mystic as you claim to be you are a dumbass when it comes to some things.

Heathen: I guess I understand. Like if we went in now because I got greedy or impatient and we got caught, I'd be so unforgivably pissed at myself. You would be too.

Catholic: *sighs* Ok man. It's like 20 minutes. Let's talk about the plan, but keep your eye on the building.

Heathen: The back door is still unlocked, but that's a really open space. Let's try to get in with as little vulnerability of being spotted. New rule: if there are any lights on in any windows and we see anyone -- we abort.

Catholic: That's wise. So we get in and then we throw anything that looks interesting in the bag and sort it out later. Let's give ourselves a 3 minute deadline for being in there.

Heathen: 3 minutes? Does it matter?

Catholic: It matters. The longer we are in there, the greater the chance of getting nabbed.

Heathen: Simple plan. The simpler the better. When the clocks hits 04:11, and there is no traffic we go. Should we pray?

Catholic: I don't think it works like that.

They sit silently in the car with the stereo on barely audible. Hammond stares out at the office across the street. Nox stares mostly at the clock, but closes his eyes in meditation and prayer. It turns to 04:10.

Nox: Ready?

Hammond: Let's go, man.

Nox and Hammond walk briskly across the street, around the back of the office and enter. They grab everything in the refrigerator in diaphragm vials. Hammond sees that there is an office inside the sort of surgical theatre. It is locked.

Hammond: Let's get in there!

Nox: We only have like 2 minutes left.

Hammond: You can't pick the lock?

Nox: *looks up* There's another way.

Nox jumps up to the top of the wall, which does not have a ceiling in the office. He drops down on the other side of the door and lets Hammond in.

Hammond: Nice. I knew you had it in you.

Nox: Shut up.

Hammond opens the desk drawers and removes a metal lock box that has "No drugs or money" written on it in black permanent marker.

Hammond: What do you think? *smiles*

Nox: It's probably receipts or something.

Hammond: You're so naive.

Nox: Whatever dude. Bring it if you want.

Hammond: And I shall.

Nox: Ok, time is up, let's get the hell out of here.

Hammond: Let's roll!

They leave and drive back to the apartment victorious. As far as they know, they've successfully accomplished their mission. When they get back they go through all the bottles and find morphine tables, vials of liquid diazepam, and a single bottle of K.

Nox: Just -one- bottle of ketamine? -fuck-, that was the whole point!

Hammond: Well, we also got the 450 dollars. Let's open the box of no drugs or money.

Nox: Ok, dude. Whatever.

Hammond pries it open with a screwdriver. There are 11 bottles of unopened ketamine. Hammond pulls them out with wide eyes.

Nox & Hammond: YES!

Nox: Let's get cooking!

Hammond: Breakfast! You know I'm supposed to leave for work in like 2 hours?

Nox: Is that going to happen?

Hammond: No. It's not.

Nox: Are you sure? You shouldn't let this get in the way of your job.

Hammond: Will you come to work with me?

Nox: Am I allowed?

Hammond: Why not? It's a service call. The client does not know you don't work with me. You can learn something.

Nox: Fine. Let's have a ketamine breakfast.

Hammond: Excellent.

They cook up their prize and insufflate. Nox loves the surreal dissociation, the anaesthetic, the physical tone it lends the body. Nox and Hammond lie like they are dead on a sofa and the floor. They are having near-death experiences but it just looks like they are dead.





Scene III - Another year later




Hammond lives in NYC, Oxley and Nox live in the same small town they all met in but Nox stays in his mother's basement often. Oxley has an apartment and a job. Nox is no longer a kid and very very depressed.

Hammond phones Nox

Hammond: What's up?

Nox: Not much, I'm not doing much at all.

Hammond: What's going on?

Nox: Nothing. I'm staying at my mom's. I don't have any sort of anything going on.

Hammond: Do you hang out with Oxley?

Nox: No, dude. I don't do anything. I'm really really sad. Just bored, lonely, whatever. I don't even know why I'm alive.

Hammond: Why don't you come up to NYC?

Nox: Because I have no money. NYC is expensive.

Hammond: Dude, come stay with me. You can get a job. Did I tell you about my job yet?

Nox: No, you haven't told me.

Hammond: It's awesome. I work for McMansion & Co. I'm like a tech analyst. You can come up here and get a job. I make loot. If I stay late, they send me home in a towncar. It's freaking amazing.

Nox: How could I get a job. I didn't even finish high school.

Hammond: But you know more than some of these guys that are 40.

Nox: So what? They won't hire me.

Hammond: Not if you don't try to get them to hire you. They don't -need- to know that you didn't finish high school. I'll help you put a resume together. Just trust me. Come up here.

Nox: Dude, I told you, I have -no- money.

Hammond: What about if I got you a bus ticket?

Nox: I still have no money.

Hammond: Listen, you and I have been partners in crime before. Just trust me. We'll get you up here and you'll get a job.

Nox: Ok, dude.

Hammond: You can't even get a bus ticket though?

Nox: *frustrated* THAT'S WHAT I SAID, I'M BROKE! WHEN HAVE YOU EVER KNOWN ME TO HAVE MONEY?!

Hammond: Can you call Oxley?

Nox: No. He's too smart to trust me.

Hammond: Let me call Oxley.

Nox: Ok then.

Hammond phones Oxley, then phones Nox and tells him to phone Oxley.

Nox: Umm, Hi Oxley.

Oxley: Heh. Hey. What... is... up...?

Nox: You're not very sincere sounding with that.

Oxley: How am I not sincere. I just talked to Hammond.

Nox: I know. I know you know. Are you going to help me?

Oxley: Help you what?

Nox: Get to New York.

Oxley: Now why would I do that?

Nox: I don't know. I really don't. But my hope was that somehow Hammond had convinced you to spot me a bus ticket.

Oxley: Hmmm. Well.... I don't know. Give me a reason.

Nox: I want to go to NYC?

Oxley: Not a good enough reason. You have to give me a reason.

Nox: Because it's a nice thing to do?

Oxley: Not a good enough reason. I'm not nice.

Nox: Because I don't have any other way, and it's humiliating that I have to beg you for a bus ticket and I can't live the way that I am right now for much longer.

Oxley: I guess that will do. If you get to the bus station, the ticket will be there for you.

Nox: You can't give me a ride to the bus station?

Oxley: WHOA! I'm already doing you a favor and I don't know why. Now you want me to drive you around?

Nox: Fuck, you're a bastard.

Oxley: Is that any way to thank me?

Nox: I'm not thanking you.

Oxley: Well, maybe I'm not helping you.

Nox: Look, will you please help me out?

Oxley: Sure buddy. I'll pick you up in a couple of hours. I'm sort of busy right now.

Nox: Ok. Any specific time?

Oxley: When I'm ready.

Nox: Thank you, man.

Oxley: Don't mention it.

Oxley picks up Nox

Nox: Can we stop somewhere first, so I can say goodbye?

Oxley: You're just going to NYC. You're not leaving.

Nox: I don't mean to come back here.

Oxley: Sure, why not?

Nox: I have to pick up some clothes and stuff there too.

They arrive at a townhouse. Nox and Oxley go up the stairs to the second floor apartment. In the room are Yaysung, Erik, and Saskia.

Nox: I came to say goodbye.

Yaysung: Where are you going?

Nox: New York City

Yaysung: What, for good?

Nox: That's my intention.

Yaysung: Ok then, well good luck.

Erik: I'll see you, mang.

Saskia just smirks derisively and waves. She is pleased that Nox is going.

Oxley: Ok, guys. I should stop by. I didn't know you lived here.

Yaysung: Well, I don't.

Oxley: Anyway, take care.

Oxley takes Nox to the bus station.

Nox: Thanks Oxley. Someday I'll pay you back.

Oxley: Maybe someday you will.

Nox: Anyway, thank you. Your doing this small favor will save my life.