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Dan Colen & Nate Lowman, Closing Down Sale

630 Greenwich Street, 212-431-4977
Greenwich Village
March 28 - April 26, 2008
Reception: Friday, March 28, 6 - 8 PM
Web Site


Lloyd and Harry ENTER and pass each other quietly as they both plunk down in their favorite easy chairs. (Lloyd still has the briefcase in his lap.)

Harry’s caged parakeet, PETEY, tweets hello, but the two guys just sit there SILENTLY. The place is a mess. Wallpaper’s peeling off the walls.

The carpet is threadbare and filthy. In the corner we see a miniature WORM FARM and a large terrarium filled with dirt and worms.

Here are a couple pieces of haggard furniture with stuffing spilling out of the gashes.

HARRY: I got fired again. Lloyd shakes his head. LLOYD: I don’t mean to be harsh, Harry, but let’s face it, you are one pathetic loser. No offense. HARRY: None taken. Were you shitcanned, too? LLOYD: Of course not. (beat) I quit. HARRY: Why’d you quit? LLOYD: I had a hunch Arnie was gonna fire me. HARRY: Why didn’t you wait and see if your suspicions were well-founded? LLOYD: Winners control their own destiny, Har.

Lloyd fetches a couple beers from the fridge and throws one to him.

HARRY: You know, the thing that really chaps my ass is that I just spent my life savings turning my van into a poodle. The alarm alone cost me two hundred. LLOYD: Big deal. That car’s an old bomb anyway. HARRY: What are you talking about? It’s only six years old. LLOYD: That’s forty-two in dog years.

They open their beers and drink simultaneously. Then Harry notices the briefcase.

HARRY: What’s with the briefcase? LLOYD: It’s a love memento. HARRY: Huh? LLOYD: The most beautiful woman alive. Her name was Mary. I drove her to the airport. Sparks flew, emotions ran high, breasts heaved. She left this case in the terminal and flew to Aspen and out of my life. End of story. HARRY: What’s in it? LLOYD: Do you really expect me to go snooping around in someone else’s private property? HARRY: Why not? LLOYD: (beat) It’s locked.

They take another sip of their beers. Suddenly we hear a LOUD KNOCK at the door. Petey the parakeet starts to SQUAWK. The guys look at each other, ALARMED, then Harry tip-toes to the PEEPHOLE.

HARRY’S POV – a DISTORTED-LOOKING J.P. Shay and Joe Mental are standing at the door.

LLOYD: (WHISPERING to Harry) Friend or foe? HARRY: (WHISPERING) We don’t have any friends.

Harry is still squinting out the peephole.

HARRY: Can’t recognize them. Could be student loan thugs again, or the IRS, or maybe somebody pissed off about that case of Girl Scout cookies you bounced a check on. LLOYD: Hey, I ordered Mystic Mint. The little swindlers gave me Peanut Butter Praline. HARRY: Well, whoever they are, they look serious. One of them’s even wearing plaid. LLOYD: (cringing) That’s a hostile pattern. I say we bail and get down to unemployment.

Lloyd GRABS THE BRIEFCASE and the two of them EXIT out the window and down the fire escape.
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