Black Butterfly Page #3

- Good morning.

- The water is freezing.

- Yeah, it is.

- Makes you feel alive.

- Could just pinch yourself.

Thanks for breakfast.

I noticed that this door

has to be completely reframed.

Now, I found a few

spare planks outside,

but I'm gonna be able to fix that

before i leave this afternoon.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

You don't have to fix anything.

- Paul, I want to.

- I'm moving.

I need to sell this place.

Why would you

give all this up?

Because I can't

afford to stay.

You know,

can't sell any of my work.

Besides, there's nothing

left for me here.

Not without my wife.

I can help you.

- No.

- No, really. I mean, it's not that much work.

- I could have it done in maybe, uh, three days.

- Jack.

- Perhaps a little bit longer.

- Jack, I can't pay you.

- Come on.

- Don't worry about it.

I'll do the cooking, deal?

Your wife?

Ah, it's the last

picture of her,

before she left me.

You know, I should clean

this place up too, right?

No, no.

I like it like this.

Thank you.

You write these?

Mm.

El ultimo hombre.

Yeah, the last man.

Hm.

Right.

Phone is still not working.

No Internet.

Paul, f*** it.

- Yeah.

- You don't need 'em.

Yeah.

Anyway, I thought a writer

would actually appreciate

being cut off from the world.

You know?

The seclusion.

Be able to get some work

done, no distractions.

Well, the irony is that we are

always looking for

a distraction.

Procrastination,

writers thrive on it.

This stew is excellent.

Thank you.

So... tomorrow I'm gonna

start working the shed.

Needs a new coat of paint.

And there's some tiles on

your roof that need fixing.

You'll never have time to do

all that in three days, Jack.

I said it might take a

little bit longer, didn't I?

Right.

I don't mean to pry, but,

don't you writers

make a good living?

Well, that depends

on the writer.

What kind of writer are you?

I had my first novel published,

uh, when I was 25.

My first bestseller

before I turned 30,

and critics really liked me.

They liked me a lot, so you

know, the word got around,

and suddenly, well,

this American literary agent

flew out to meet me in Madrid,

and he said that the

studios were interested,

eh, to adapt, some of

my books to the screen.

And so, for all my sins,

I signed with him.

So he sold the book, and uh,

they got me to write

the screenplay,

and suddenly out of

the blue, you know,

they forgot

the agreement, entirely.

And they gave it to

somebody else to write.

So they kicked you

out of your own movie?

Can't get any worse

than that, I guess.

Oh, yes, it can.

It can.

The worst part is that

they did make the movie,

and the only thing left

of my book was the title.

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