int. kitchen – day
A MAN sits in front of an empty plate and woven basket. There are a few stray crumbs on the table.
I can’t believe you ate it. Both the buns and the bagels?! What’s with you?
He glares off to his right. Nothing.
Jesus. Now what am I supposed to serve the company? That was Trey on the phone. Said they were leaving soon. And if I know that wife of his, they left on time just so they can get it over with. Everything is such an ordeal with her.
Another silence. He shoves the empty basket across the table.
God damn it. How are we gonna, you know, generate those good feeling so we can talk? I could kill you. I could.
The Man stands. Raises his fist in anger.
Don’t you dare run away from me. Don’t you dare. What I am supposed to do? Feed ‘em soup bones from the freezer? Damn it! I’d take them to the diner, but my daughter-in-law will start in with her water works. Blubbering like a fuckin’ canine. No offense.
He sits down. The fight gone. A dog wanders into frame. Tail wagging.
Who’s a good boy? Who’s my good boy.