The air is pungent with sex, her hair slapped damp
to her forehead in its aftermath.
ache1: I wish there were more of us, more
than one of each of us, you know what I mean?
Pause
Skunk: No.
ache1: Well if there were lots of us we
could do everything all at once.
Skunk (as if musing): Well… yeah… I can see how some of that might work
ache1: Not just this you pig, everything. We could be lying here but we could also
be going for a walk, or sitting out there on the grass having a drink, some of
us Moosehead, some of us whiskey right from out the bottle, and some playing
marbles at your place, and watching movies.
Skunk (interrupting): God a’mighty, don’t I have
trouble enough keeping up with just the one of you?
ache1: Yes you idiot but there’ll be more
than one of you as well.
Pause
ache1: Dick.
Skunk: Anyway what’s the rush? It’s not as if we’re
up against the clock.
