5 to 7

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Some of the best writing

in New York won't be found

in books, or movies,

or plays..

...but on the benches

of Central Park.

Read the benches

and you understand.

Enormous things

happen in every life.

On the other hand, some of

the worst writing in New York

could be found at 222

East 30th Street, Apartment 3C.

The walls of which

were decorated

with rejection letters

from magazines

located in 12 countries,

47 states

and the District of Columbia.

When I think

about those stories

and how I didn't realize

what was missing from them

not even tears,

rivers of shame

come out of my eyes.

I wasn't interested

in friends or girlfriends.

All I did was write

and read and mumble to myself.

It's a form

of mental illness really.

Now, in New York, you're never

more than 20 feet away

from someone you know, or

someone you're meant to know.

But in my whole life,

I only crossed the street once.

I might never have thought

of anything to say

but then I smelled

the smoke from her cigarette.

It was heavy,

I recognized it from outside

a restaurant one time, it was

either French or Spanish.

And I didn't speak Spanish.

Shall we continue in English?

Please.

My name is Brian.

May I ask your name?

Arielle.

Arielle.

Like "The Little Mermaid."

What?

"The Little Mermaid,"

it's a Disney film.

The little mermaid's

name was Arielle.

Yes, I'm familiar. Tha...

That's where your mind goes?

She was actually

a very interesting character.

Really?

Yes.

A beautiful woman

who lived in the sea and..

...had the tail of a fish,

and yet she..

Somehow for her,

it all worked.

Did you see it

yesterday or something?

No. When I was 8.

The day before yesterday.

What's the French word for..

Sirene.

Sirene, nice.

Well, enchante, Brian.

Enchante.

Will we meet again?

I would like it very much

if that would happen.

Well, I'm here every Friday

at the close

of lunch in my exile.

You would simply

have to be here as well.

I will be then.

Good. Until next Friday then.

Until next Friday.

Hi, Jim.

How are you today?

Good.

Work is going

very well, dad.

Well, it's gonna sound

stupid, but the fiction editor

from the "Atlantic"

added the word "Sorry"

to the bottom

of my latest rejection.

What the hell

does that mean?

It means I got close.

It's code.

Can we talk

about law school?

No, thank you.

No law school.

Any job worth having

requires a second interview.

I thought perhaps

you wouldn't come.

It never occurred to me.

I mean, because of the rain.

Is it raining?

It was a good test.

A woman has to know what

sort of man she's dealing with.

What sort of man

am I dealing with?

Damp.

A damp sort of man..

...but happy in his dampness.

What sort of woman

am I dealing with?

Une sirene.

Thank you.

So, Brian, what is it

you do in your life

that leaves you free

to wander about the streets

in the afternoons, and smoke

in nooks, and talk to strangers?

I write.

I'm a writer.

Have you published?

No, not yet.

How old are you?

What are your stories about?

Various things.

One is about..

...baseball.

One is about..

...dogs.

Dogs?

Yes.

Uh-huh. So, do you

have any questions for me?

May I ask your profession?

Are you asking me

if I'm a prostitute?

No. No. No.

No. No. No.

Are you... a prostitute?

Certainly not.

How dare you?

You brought it up.

I would have never...

I was a model.

I stopped 8 years ago.

Are you wondering how old I am?

Yes.

I'm 33.

Back to coffee

with your friends?

Yes.

Until next Friday?

Hmm, if you wish, well, I'm

free any weeknight from 5 to 7.

Ah, those are

very specific hours.

Yes, they are.

Alright. Well... shall

we say Monday at 5?

Do you like museums?

Would you meet me

at the Guggenheim?

I'd be delighted.

Good.

Till then, then.

Till then.

No, he... he didn't write,

"We will publish your next story."

Is that what dad told you?

So then, what did he write?

He just wrote, "Sorry."

And were they sorry today?

No, they didn't write sorry

on today's rejections.

Well, that's

a step backward.

It's not a step

backwards, mom.

Progress is not linear.

It's about death.

I beg your pardon?

And menace.

It's about death and menace.

It's a... boat.

A nice boat.

It's near a beautiful beach

and it's... sunny.

Is there any life

on that boat?

No.

And what is the opposite of life?

Death, but...

It's like a neutron bomb went off.

Maybe they're

just below decks.

And it's not just

this painting.

Look at this one. Ha!

This one has people in it.

Dead people.

They're alive.

Not really.

Look at that man.

Is he alive?

And the soda jerk?

Is that any kind of life?

And the prostitute?

Okay, she's not a prostitute.

What is it with you

and prostitutes?

What is she then?

She's..

I don't know,

she's a beautician.

They're all dead.

And the store across the street

is out of business.

And no one lives

in the apartment upstairs.

The tenants have been evicted

and the building condemned.

This Hopper is supposed

to be the quintessential

American painter.

Well, if that's true,

then America is not alive.

America is alive, okay?

And you have a somewhat

downbeat world view.

No, I don't.

And prove it.

Prove what?

That America is still alive.

Look around.

They don't seem particularly

alive to me. Prove it.

Alright.

You may be right,

I don't know.

Your accent is beautiful.

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