Archive for February 6, 2013

Entire contents trademarked TM and copyrighted (c) by Ryan Carey, 2013. That means that if you want to reproduce or use this material for any reason, you have to ask me real nice.



LARRY, wandering rather aimlessly along the sidewalked streets of town, newspaper still tucked under his arm, coffee still in hand. He takes time to look into shop windows and is generally just absorbing the town atmosphere and the feeling of the day. He’s clearly in no hurry and has very little to do with his time. It’s a good old-fashioned “morning constitutional.” When he finally notices an empty bench in a public park across the street from where he is walking, he crosses over to it, sits down, opens the paper, and sips his coffee.



LARRY’s face, seen from inside, peers into a QUILT SHOP window. The front door opens and LARRY enters the shop. There is an older WOMAN working behind a counter, standing on a stool, hanging up a new quilt for display on the wall. No other customers are present.

LARRY : Doing okay up there?

WOMAN : Oh, be a dear, would’ja? Come on back here and hold this footstool steady while I finish up, won’t be a minute.

LARRY : Sure.

LARRY makes his way over to the other side of the counter, kneels down, and places both arms around the stool, holding it in place. The WOMAN finishes fixing the quilt to a series of  hooks in the wall and steps down as LARRY removes his arms from around the stool.

WOMAN : Oh, yer a lifesaver.

LARRY moves back from behind the counter to the retail area of the shop.

LARRY : Think nothing of it, my good woman.

LARRY points to the quilts on the wall and others arranged and folded on tables throughout the small store.

LARRY CON’T: You make all these yourself?

WOMAN : When I’m not doing something else.

LARRY : How long do they take?

The WOMAN breaks open a roll of change and dumps it into her cash register.

WOMAN : Depends. Some a day, others a week. Take a look at the prices and you can get a good idea how long each one took.

LARRY(chucking): Fifty bucks a day, something like that?

WOMAN : Maybe if this was China. Try adding a one in front and now you might be talking.

LARRY begins browsing  the quilts on the tables.

LARRY : Well, they’re worth every penny, I’m sure.

WOMAN : I like to think so. It’s time from my life I can never have back, isn’t it?

LARRY : Truer words were never spoken.

WOMAN : ‘Course, I suppose we can say that about pretty much anything, can’t we?

LARRY : Meaning?

WOMAN : Whatever we do, whatever we just did — there goes a little bit of time in our life we can’t ever get back.

LARRY (pausing) :  That’s a little heavy (pausing again and grinning), but it’s a fact I can’t argue with.

WOMAN : That’s life, innit? No returns or exchanges. (pauses, smiling slightly) Kinda like my shop.

LARRY : Guess you must copy your rules from God.

WOMAN : Who better ta set store policy?

LARRY stops browsing and leisurely makes his way to the door to exit.

LARRY : Nobody I can think of. Well, have yourself a good day.

WOMAN : You too dear, thanks again.

LARRY exits the shop.



LARRY is seen seated at an outdoor cafe, eating a sandwich and drinking an iced tea. He’s very near the end of his meal, and as he finishes the last bit of his sandwich and drinks the last of his iced tea, he picks up the check from the table, has a glance at it, stands up, takes a ten dollar bill out of his wallet, leaves it on the table, and opens the gated fence door off  to the side of the tables, to resume his walk along the sidewalks of town. After closing the gate behind him, he reaches into his shirt pocket, takes out a cigarette, puts it in his mouth, takes his lighter from his pants pocket, and lights up before strolling along on his way.



LARRY is standing on the sidewalk outside JUNE’s home/studio. He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, retrieving her business card from the wallet’s rather stuffed insides. He takes a look at the card again, comparing the address on it to the one above her door.

LARRY (to himself) : Well, guess this is it.

LARRY tucks the card back inside his wallet and stuffs the wallet back into his pants pocket. He puts out his cigarette on the sidewalk and stamps the butt with his foot.  Walking up the stone-lined path to her house, he taps his hand against the words “COME IN, WE’RE OPEN” on the hand-painted wooden business sign on the side of the path, staked into her yard. He steps up onto her front porch, opens the screen door, and makes his way into the house, slowly  closing the door behind him  to avoid it loudly snapping shut.

Entire contents trademarked TM and copyrighted (c) by Ryan Carey, 2013. That means that if you want to reproduce or use this material for any reason, you have to ask me real nice.



LARRY is sitting on a chair in the room, loosening his tie. He picks up his cell phone from the desk and checks his messages.

VOICEMAIL : You have two new messages. Press 1 to —

LARRY presses “1” on the phone.

VOICEMAIL CON’T : First message, sent yesterday at 10:26 p.m.

JOE’S VOICE : Larry! This is Joe. Just seein’ how the first night over there went. Gimme a call tomorrow, I gotta go into the office for a bit. Should be there by noon, somethin’ like that.

VOICEMAIL : End of message. Press 1 to save, press 2 —

LARRY presses 2.

VOICEMAIL CON’T: Message erased. Second message, sent yesterday at 11:33 p.m.

LARRY FATHER’S VOICE : Larry. It’s your dad. It ain’t important. I forgot. You’re in Wisconsin anyway, aren’t ya? Call me when ya can. It ain’t that important.

VOICEMAIL : End of message. Press 1 to —

Larry presses 2.

VOICEMAIL CON’T : Message erased. You have no new messages.

LARRY shuts the phone off, takes a cigarette from his shirt pocket, lights up,  takes a drag, exhales slowly.

LARRY (singing to himself quietly) : On a morning from a Bogart movie, in a country where they turned back time — you go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime —

LARRY resumes undressing, hanging his tie up on a wire hanger and unbuttoning his shirt as his singing trails off to a whistle.




LARRY reaches in his pocket for his car keys, sees the MOTEL CLERK walking across the lot towards the office with a newspaper, gives him a wave.

MOTEL CLERK : Morning.

LARRY : Morning. Where’s the best place to get to get a cup o’ coffee around here, anyway?

MOTEL CLERK : There’s like six places now. All of ’em about the same, all kinda expensive.

LARRY : Okay, then — where’s the closest?

MOTEL CLERK : Drive straight up County Road 32 here. Vera’s ain’t even two blocks away.

LARRY : Thanks, my man. (pauses) By the way — got a name?

LARRY unlocks his car door.


LARRY : Thanks, Nestor. Have yourself a good one.

MOTEL CLERK (concentrating more on newspaper article he’s reading) : Sure, sure — you too.

The MOTEL CLERK continues his short trek to the office, opening up the newspaper to continue reading, while LARRY gets in his car and shuts the door.



LARRY enters the shop through the front door. It’s reasonably busy, with a line at the counter a few customers deep. It’s clearly a “yuppie”-type establishment with chalkboard sign, homemade pastries, an espresso bar with steam coming out of it, hardwood floors, and  wooden tables scattered around the room. LARRY grabs a paper from the stack for sale by the counter, and is pleasantly surprised to see JUNE working the cash register. LARRY gets in line behind another customer.

CUSTOMER : Two medium lattes, please. Skim.

JUNE (calling out) : Two mediums with skim!

ESPRESSO BAR WORKER : Two mediums with skim.

JUNE (to customer, ringing up his order) : That’ll be $6.75.

CUSTOMER (fumbling through his pocket) : Let’s see, there’s — wait a sec, here’s a ten.

JUNE makes change for him.

JUNE : Okay, $3.25 back at’cha, drinks’ll be ready over on the other side there by the bar. Have a good morning.

CUSTOMER : You too.

LARRY makes his way to the front of the line.

LARRY : Morning, master potter.

JUNE : Not until noon. Vera owns my ass until then. Thanks for the drinks last night.

LARRY(slight laughter) : Don’t mention it .

JUNE : Too late.

LARRY : Hope you didn’t have to open the place up this morning.

JUNE : Nah, didn’t have to be here till 8.

LARRY : That’s good. Uhmmm — (pauses) guess I’d better order, I suppose.

JUNE : That’s generally how things are done here.

LARRY : How about just a large black coffee.

JUNE : For here or to go?

LARRY surveys the room, sees all the tables are full.

LARRY : Guess I gotta take it to go, no place to really sit.

JUNE : Saturday mornings get that way sometimes.

JUNE turns, pours coffee from an urn into a paper cup, turns around to face LARRY again.

JUNE CON’T : Large coffee and a paper, $3.50.

LARRY : Yeesh, Nestor wasn’t kiddin’.

JUNE : You’re staying at the Riverview?

LARRY : Nicely deduced, Holmes.

JUNE : Good luck. Anyway, Nestor thinks everything’s expensive. (pauses) But in this case I gotta admit he’s right.

LARRY reaches into his wallet, hands her a five.

JUNE CON’T : $3.50 from five.

JUNE makes change from the cash register.

JUNE CON’T : A buck fifty back to you, good sir, Don’t spend it all in one place. And yes, cliches come free here.

LARRY : Well, I appreciate the bonus. See ya when you’ve got yer other hat on later, I suppose.

JUNE : ‘Kay. If I’m busy when you get there, just wait around.

LARRY : Will do.

LARRY exits the cafe with his coffee in hand and newspaper tucked under his arm.

Entire contents trademarked TM  and copyrighted (c) by Ryan Carey, 2013. That means that if you want to reproduce or use this material for any reason, you have to ask me real nice.



LARRY, JUNE, and the BARTENDER are among a small group of people left at last call. LARRY is unplugging his equipment, JUNE finishing her  drink at the bar, the BARTENDER removing glasses from the dishwasher behind the bar. LARRY calls over to the BARTENDER.

LARRY (to BARTENDER) : Well, how’d we do, ya think?

BARTENDER : Hard ta say. Don’t think the crowd was any bigger than usual, but the folks that were here might’a drank a little more than they woulda, an’ what the hell — folks had a good time. Gotta be worth somethin’, right?

LARRY : Sure.

BARTENDER : One for the road?

LARRY : Well, since the “road” is only about three blocks long — what the fuck.

BARTENDER pours a beer from the tap.

BARTENDER : That’s the spirit.

BARTENDER turns and addresses JUNE.

BARTENDER CON’T : One last vodka tonic, June?

JUNE examines her near-empty glass, pondering her options for a moment.

JUNE : Why not?

LARRY approaches the bar, has a seat next to JUNE, takes a sip off the top of his beer.

LARRY (to JUNE): Couldn’t getch’a up there, huh?

JUNE : Sorry, this’ll only be my fourth coming up. I’d need at least a couple more ounces of — what’s it called? — “Dutch courage”?

LARRY : You don’t know what you’re missin’.

JUNE  : Au contraire, I know exactly what I’m missing.

LARRY : You mean that in a more general sense?

JUNE : Nice try, but given I’ve known you for all of about three hours, that’s the most you’ll get from me.

LARRY lights up a cigarette.

LARRY : Fair enough.

A PATRON named TED gets up from his barstool and heads toward the exit.

BARTENDER : ‘Night, Ted.

TED : Prob’ly see ya tomorrow.

BARTENDER : Drive safe. I’ll keep yer spot warm.

LARRY (to JUNE) : So anyway — what’d ya think? I was surprised how quiet it got at the end of the night, normally that’s the busiest time. Barkeep here said the owner hired us ‘cuz he wants the yuppies to have the kind’a (makes air-quotes) “bar experience” they have back in the Cities, but I don’t think he knows what yuppie bars are like.

JUNE : Well, you can sing. Don’t know about anybody else.

LARRY : Thanks. (pauses for another sip of beer) I front a band in my ample spare time.

JUNE : What kinda stuff you guys play?

LARRY : Shit — we’re a bunch’a old-timers, an’ our regular gig’s at this 50s throwback joynt, so it’s mostly Elvis an’ Chuck Berry an’ all that .

JUNE : Sounds like a poor man’s Sha-Na-Na.

LARRY : You pretty much hit the nail on the head.

JUNE : Isn’t that stuff even before your time?

LARRY : Hey, it’s nice to be one o’ the younger folks in a bar. Doesn’t really happen anywhere else.

JUNE : So — you always been in an old-fart cover band?

LARRY : Nah. Sang in a real band for seven, eight years once upon a time. We almost had somethin’ goin’ there.

JUNE : Almost? They tell me that only counts in —

LARRY cuts her off mid-sentence.

LARRY : Yeah, yeah. It was fun, though. We had pretty steady work every weekend all over the Cities. Even opened for Aerosmith back in the ’78 once at the last minute.

JUNE : Their regular openers miss their bus or something?

LARRY : No. (pauses for another sip of beer) Their lead singer and guitarist got killed the day before in some kinda drunken boating accident.

Brief, uncomfortable silence.

JUNE : No shit?

LARRY : No shit. Never forget that phone call, our manager called me up and told me what went went down and asked if we could be ready in four hours. We were like “hell yes!” (pauses for another sip of beer) But I guess we didn’t make much of an impression because by their next show Aerosmith had found permanent replacements. A bunch’a upstarts who called themselves The Cars. Wonder what ever happened to them?

JUNE : So that’s your claim to fame? (pauses for a sip from her drink) My band was almost The Cars once upon a time?

LARRY pauses a moment, takes a drag off his cigarette.

LARRY : Yeah, I guess so. It’s somethin’.

JUNE : That it is. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

The last customer at the bar apart from JUNE gets up and gives the BARTENDER a wave good-night; the BARTENDER waves back.

LARRY : You close this place down a lot?

JUNE takes a sip off her drink.

JUNE : Used to — all the time. Then I didn’t. Now I seem to again.

LARRY : You can work your potter’s wheel thing with a hangover?

JUNE : I can work it with worse than a hangover if I have to.

JUNE takes another sip off her drink.

LARRY (slight laughter): Been at it a long time, huh?

JUNE : Tell you the truth, I do most of my work over the winter — spring, summer an’ fall is pretty much all about hustling it off.

LARRY : How about the weekdays? Must be time to indulge in the magic of artistic creation then.

JUNE : Yeah, yeah — I get some stuff done year round, I won’t kid you. Just been a little busy lately.

LARRY down a rather large gulp of beer, sensing that the conversation is drawing to a close.

LARRY : Well, hell, since you’re one of those people who makes their living by allowing strangers into their home, maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow an’ have a look at your stuff.

JUNE : Sure, Do that.

JUNE reaches into her purse for a business card.

JUNE (handing him the card) CON’T : Here’s a card.

LARRY glances at the card, which reads JUNE KURZWEIL , MASTER POTTER AND SCULPTOR, over her home address, phone number, and email address.

LARRY : Kurzweil, huh? Any relation to —

JUNE cuts him off mid-sentence.

JUNE : Nope, but people ask all the time.

LARRY sips his beer and takes a long drag off his cigarette.

LARRY : So what exactly makes one a “master” potter?

JUNE : My say-so.

LARRY takes a last drag off his cigarette, puts it out in an ashtray.

LARRY : Guess I’m in the wrong line o’ work.

JUNE : Hell, you’re a karaoke emcee —master of ceremonies, right?

LARRY : Whaddaya know? We got something in common after all.

JUNE finishes off her drink, sets down the empty glass on the bar.

JUNE : Both masters of our craft. I keep shop hours from noon to six.

LARRY pauses, looks at her card one last time, pulls his wallet from his pants pocket, slips the card inside.

LARRY : If I can find the place, I’ll pop in.

JUNE : This town’s not that big. And you don’t have anything to do until 8:00. You’ll find it.

LARRY : Okay, I’ll find it.

JUNE gets up from her seat, extends a handshake to LARRY.

JUNE : And to think — I almost had a drink with Ric Ocasek tonight.

LARRY : Well, hope I’ll do for a substitute. Have a good night.

JUNE : You too, mister-never-gave-me-your-name.

LARRY : Shit. Sorry. It’s Larry.

JUNE : I knew that. Bert told me, remember? I just said you never gave it to me. Which is true.

LARRY : Bert?

JUNE : The bartender.

The BARTENDER gives a dumb little wave.

JUNE CON’T : He’s got a name, too.

JUNE exits the bar.

LARRY turns to face the BARTENDER.

LARRY : Well, Bert the bartender — that was interesting.

BARTENDER : She’s good people.

LARRY : Seems like it. Maybe a little rough around the edges.

BARTENDER :  Hell, isn’t anyone worth knowin’?

LARRY take a drink, his glass now nearly empty.

LARRY : I suppose so.

BARTENDER : Guess you want me to spill whatever I know about ‘er now.

LARRY pauses, considering.

LARRY : Nah.Stand-up guy like you wouldn’t do that anyway.

BARTENDER : Dunno about the stand-up guy thing, but you got the second part right.

LARRY : See? Proves my point.

BARTENDER : Anyway, Romeo, don’t get wanna get too far ahead of yerself. She left ya her tab.

LARRY chuckles.

LARRY : For a chick, she’s sure got balls.

BARTENDER : Well, drink up. Some of us got families to get home to.

LARRY gulps down the last of his beer and sets the empty glass on the bar.

LARRY : Fair enough, Bert the bartender. Fair enough.

BARTENDER : Just Bert’ll do, ya know.

LARRY : Well, lemme load up my stuff and I’ll get outta yer hair.

BARTENDER : Okay. Tomorrow night, then.

LARRY taps his knuckles on the bar.

LARRY : Tomorrow night, then.

LARRY settles up his tab and JUNE’s by leaving a twenty and a ten at the counter and heads toward the bar’s rear exit, grabbing the two-wheeler with his equipment loaded onto it as he goes.


Entire contents trademarked TM and copyrighted(c) by Ryan Carey, 2013. That means if you want to reproduce or use this material for any reason, you have to ask me real nice.



LARRY is up on stage now, a small raised platform about a step up from the main floor of the table area in the bar. His computerized karaoke machine, teleprompter, microphone, and pull-down screen are all fully set up. The room itself is a bit more crowded, with just a few of the  tables empty, and most of the stools at the bar now occupied. The air is fairly heavy with smoke, and LARRY coughs and clears his throat as he begins speaking into the microphone.

LARRY (into microphone) : Gooooooood evening, ladies and gentlemen! It’s a real pleasure to be with you tonight here at Ronnie’s. This is the first time we’ve ever done anything like this here at this fine establishment, so we’re hoping for a good night and most of all we want everybody to cut loose, not worry about making a fool of yourself, and have a good time.

There is a smattering of polite applause across the room.

LARRY(into microphone) CON’T: Thanks, you’re too damn kind. Now, if you’ll notice, there’s some song books, pencils, and cards spread hopefully kinda evenly around the room, and the way it works if you haven’t done this before is you just find a song you like, write down the number next to it in the book along with your name on one of the little cards with one of the little pencils, come on up and hand me the card, and we’ll get you up here ASAP. Get in early ‘cuz it almost always ends up gettin’ too busy to get everyone in towards the end, and I know you all wanna have something to record on your cell phones and slap up on YouTube later.

Polite laughter is heard throughout the room.

LARRY (into microphone) CON’T: Anybody got the guts to be first to give it a go? Anybody?

(Long pause)

LARRY(into microphone) CON’T: Bueller?

(Another pause)

LARRY(into microphone) CON’T : Bueller?

(Another pause)

LARRY(into microphone) CON’T: Bueller?

A final, somewhat lengthy pause as Larry scans the room, locking eyes with a number of patrons and doing “come on up here” nudging gestures with his arm. With still no takers to be found, he resumes his monologue into the microphone.

LARRY (into microphone) CON’T: Alright, guess it’s gonna be down to me to get this little shindig started. Hopefully in a drink or two at least a few of ya will find the courage to come on up here and wow yer friends and neighbors with a talent they never knew ya had.

LARRY queues up a song on the machine, and as the lyrics pop up on the screen behind him, he sings along with the teleprompter.

LARRY (singing) CON’T : On the south side of Chicago, in the baddest part o’ town, well if you go down there, you better just beware of a man named Leroy Brown!




Some moments later,  LARRY, still singing, at this point a number of bar patrons having joined in.

LARRY (and assorted PATRONS) : — but if there’s nothin’ shakin’ come this here Juuuuuuuulyyyy — I’m gonna roll myself up — in a big ball — and die!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Myyyyyy myyyyyyyyyy!

Drunken applause and laughter fill the room above a handful of chattering voices.

LARRY (into microphone) CON’T: Alright, folks, thank you so much! And our first victim tonight looks like it’s gonna be — I mean, please welcome to the stage —(unfolding the card in his hand) , Earl, who’s gonna be gracing us with his rendition of a favorite from none other than The King Himself!

EARL, a late-30s, somewhat sharply-dressed , professional-looking type approaches the stage with drunken gusto, and eagerly takes the mic from LARRY’s hand as LARRY queues up the proper song on the machine. In a moment, the lyrics begin to pop up on the screen and EARL commences singing.

EARL : Lord almighty, feel my temperature risin’ —




LARRY is back onstage, taking the microphone from EARL’s hand as EARL finishes up his number, hips gesticulating wildly in his best Elvis impersonation.

LARRY (into microphone) : Alright, live from Split Rock, Wisconsin, by way of Memphis, that was Earl!!!!!!!!!!!

Loud applause throughout the room.

LARRY (into microphone) CON’T: Okay! Take a cue from our friend Earl here and just (making a crazy face and affecting an exaggerated voice) let it alllllllllllllllllll hang out!!!!!!!

More applause circles the room.

LARRY (into microphone) CON’T : (opening up another sheet of paper in his hand) Okay, next up we’ve got Frank! Come on up here and take it away, Frank!

FRANK, a mid-to-late-40s, rather unkempt-looking, bushy-bearded man with a huge, “Cat In The Hat”-style top-hat take the microphone from LARRY, as LARRY queues up the machine. As the beginning instrumental intro of Al Stewart’s “Year Of The Cat” fills the room, LARRY makes his way over to the bar.

LARRY (to BARTENDER) : Man, what’s with this guy’s hat?

BARTENDER : No clue. Never seen ‘im without it, though. He shows up around here for a week or two this time every year. None of the motel or B&B folks have ever seen ‘im stay at their place. For all I know he might pitch a tent out in the woods. Never even knew his name was Frank before.

At this point JUNE, a reasonably-attractive, and modestly-dressed woman seated next to the spot where LARRY is standing at the bar, politely interjects herself into the conversation.

JUNE : I see him most morning from my porch, walking along the river. Never waves or says hi or anything, just seems to keep to himself.

BARTENDER : Hey, June, looking good. When’d you get here?

JUNE : Minute or two ago. Snuck in while you had your back turned.

The BARTENDER nods toward LARRY to make introductions.

BARTENDER : June, this is Larry, the karaoke guy in from Minneapolis.

LARRY extends a handshake towards her in greeting.

BARTENDER CON’T : Larry, this is June. One o’ them artistic types  I  warned ya about.

LARRY : Pleased to know you, June the artist.

JUNE : Likewise, Larry the lounge lizard.

LARRY reaches in his shirt pocket for a cigarette.

LARRY : Been called worse.

(turns to address BARTENDER)

LARRY CON’T : Wanna hook me up with another?

BARTENDER (filling beer glass from tap) : Already on it.

JUNE (addressing LARRY) : This one’s kinda long for a karaoke number, isn’t it?

LARRY : Why do you think I’m over here gettin’ a  beer? (pauses) Seriously, though, they cut out most of the instrumental stuff in the middle, get it down to a few minutes.

JUNE : Too bad. I always kinda liked this song.

LARRY : Yeah, I dunno. Al Stewart’s voice was always a little bit — nasal, I guess, for my tastes. And he drops one too many movie metaphors right off the bat. “On a morning from a Bogart movie — you go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre” —- alla that.

JUNE : I never pay much attention to the lyrics. The music in this one just kinda takes me — (pauses) — takes me someplace else, I guess. (pauses) For a few minutes, anyway. (pauses again, smiling) Or less, if it’s the karaoke version.

LARRY : Spoken like a true artist. It’s weird, though.

JUNE : What is?

LARRY : If you never pay attention to the lyrics, then maybe you’re going somewhere else in your mind other than where the singer intended.

JUNE : Well, screw him. I can go wherever I want with it, don’t have to follow his roadmap.

LARRY : So I guess you’re sorta making it your own song, then, in a way.

JUNE : Not really. I didn’t write it. I’m just interpreting someone else’s work in my own way. That’s art for ya, isn’t it?

LARRY : Explain.

JUNE : Well, once you out it out there, you’ve got no control over what anyone else does with it. If I make, say, a vase that I think looks really lovely with a flower arrangement in it and somebody buys it and takes it home and fills it with — I dunno, doggie treats — then my (makes air-quotes) “intentions as an artist” are pretty much out the window, aren’t they?

LARRY flicks his lighter on.

LARRY CON’T : Mind if I —?

JUNE : Go ahead. I’ve already got cancer.

LARRY pauses, frozen in his tracks, clearly taken aback.

JUNE : I’m lying, I do that sometimes.

BARTENDER( interjecting himself back into the conversation) : They don’t have ball-busting where Larry’s from.

JUNE : Minneapolis? You live in town or the ‘burbs?

LARRY(now smoking) : In town, couple blocks from Lake Nokomis. You know it?

JUNE : Sure. Seems like a civilized place, I thought ball-busting would have made it there by now.

LARRY : Scandinavians. We’re slow on the uptake and notoriously literal.

JUNE : Well, get with it. You’re in a cheesehead bar now.

LARRY (turning his head back toward the stage) : Speaking of getting with it —

JUNE : Wow, they do cut these songs short.

LARRY : Gonna try your hand at it later?

JUNE : Doubtful. But you’ve got a few hours to persuade me. I hustled off four pieces today, and I’m determined to spend half my take in this very bar.

LARRY : Pieces?

JUNE : Pottery’s my gig. Almost never sell anything on a Friday. Sure sign it’s going to be a good weekend.

LARRY : Maybe so. Maybe so.

LARRY bounds quickly back up to the stage just as the song is ending.

LARRY (into microphone) CON’T : Alright, thank you, Frank! Don’t know about that hat, but you sure can sing!

FRANK shoots him a glance as though he’s offended, as polite applause peppers the room.