Third Person Page #2

Excuse me.

Scusa me. Another.

And one for the lady.

Finally found something

I like about this country.

You going on vacation?

Taking a train?

You know, that's alcohol.

I'm starting to become aware of that.

Hi, Daddy. It's me, Megan.

Mommy said we could turn the heater

on for the pool, but I had to ask you.

Can we? Please? Please?

I miss you.

And I'm sorry I didn't feed Choo-Choo, Dad.

I love you.

- My daughter.

- And that's it.

Bye.

Recorded one...

How old?

Seven.

You have kids?

A boy.

Girl?

Girl.

Eight.

Megan.

- Beautiful.

- She's cute, right?

Thank you.

Nina.

I don't see her two years.

I'm sorry. That sucks.

Tomorrow I see her.

Great.

- Yes.

- That's great. Well... cheers.

To your daughter.

To your.

And to yours.

Hello?

No.

Hello? Hello?

Everything all right?

Miss?

Ma'am?

Thank you.

Bar Americano.

Hey.

Another-o.

I'm not the one with the Pulitzer Prize,

but I thought one kept a journal

in order to understand oneself.

Why? You thinking of keeping one?

No. I just don't understand why

you call yourself "He."

"He" thought this. "She" said that.

Hey. You shouldn't be reading that.

You don't want me to know

how much you missed me?

How's the book coming along?

Not a subject for conversation.

You want to read mine?

Not just at this moment.

It's short, all you have to do

is say it's brilliant.

Already erased your texts from other women?

Takes up most of my day.

So, what do you want to talk about?

Your inability to see the obvious.

- Your assistant has good taste.

- I fired her months ago.

She suggested blue, she had to go.

It's nice.

I can exchange it.

No, I'll find someone to give it to.

She may have something for him, too.

She's just waiting to

see if he deserves it.

He doesn't.

He might.

Excuse me. Excuse me.

Excuse me, excuse me, scusa me, scusi.

Hey, she left this.

She left this. The woman, she left her bag.

The woman.

A what?

It's not a... bomba.

It's not a bomba, it's a...

Will you tell him...

Tell him that it's not a bomb.

It's not a bomb. No, no, no.

Whoa. Hey.

Bar Americano.

Jesus Christ.

Hey, mister! Mister, you must leave it.

You must leave it. It's a bomb.

- It's not a bomb.

- You listen.

Listen to me, listen to me. It's a bomba.

It's not a bomba. It's not a bomba.

It's a bag with a monkey.

Who puts a monkey on a bomb?

No, no, no, it's a bomb,

it's a bomb, it's a bomb.

It's not a bomb. It's not a bomb.

It's children's clothing.

Children's clothing, see? See for yourself.

- What'd he say?

- He say it could be a shoe bomb.

A shoe bomb? It's not a shoe bomb.

Does this look like a shoe bomb?

Why do you guys always

make it a soap opera? Look.

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