The Big Chill Page #3

Twenty-seven and twenty-eight.

Better watch out.

Some big monster will buy you.

We've had offers.

Who would've thought we'd both

make so much bread?

Two revolutionaries.

Good thing it's not

important to us.

F*** them if they can't

take a joke.

Chloe. Hi, you there?

I just wanted to...

...make sure you're okay.

- Yeah, I'm fine.

- Good.

Thanks, Michael.

Come along?

Are you kidding?

So I'm in the Philadelphia Public

Defender's office.

My clients were the scum of the earth.

Extreme repulsivos.

One of them got caught

in the house.

He and his friends beat up

the husband, rape the wife...

...then tried to blow the place up.

When I ask what happened, he says:

"I was in Montreal at the time."

Who'd you think your clients would be?

Grumpy and Sneezy?

Huey and Bobby.

I don't know.

I just didn't think they'd be...

...so guilty.

And then?

Then I left.

A law school friend is at a firm

in Atlanta doing real estate law.

I went to see them.

The offices were very clean...

...and the clients were only

raping the land...

...and then of course

there was the money.

El greedo strikes again.

Sarah has that robe.

Not this weekend she doesn't.

I always jump her

when she wears it.

Harold, don't you

have any other music?

Like, from this century?

There is no other music in my house.

There's been a lot of terrific music

in the last 10 years.

Like what?

How about you, Michael?

Tell us about big-time journalism.

Where I work we have

only one editorial rule:

No writing longer than an average person

can read during an average crap.

I'm tired of having

my work read in the can.

People read Dostoyevsky in the can.

But they can't finish it.

This certainly is a familiar scene.

I'm feeling very guilty about it.

I'm happy to be here,

but I'm sick about the reason.

I'm going to bed.

I'm sorry.

We could talk about something else.

That's okay. I'm exhausted.

Good night, everyone.

I'll be up in a minute.

Good night, Sarah.

Harold, I'm sorry.

We all feel that way.

I forget what this is like.

In L.A., I don't know who to trust.

I feel like everybody

wants something from me.

I know that sounds terrible,

but it's true.

Tell me about it.

It's a cold world out there.

Sometimes I think

I'm getting frosty myself.

I don't know what people

think about me.

I don't know why they like me,

or even if they do like me.

You don't have

that problem here.

You know I don't like you.

Me either.

Ditto.

So relax.

A**holes.

I was just coming down.

Don't.

What are we doing?

I didn't get to talk to you before.

You got me stoned too quick.

But I'm okay now.

I'm just drunk and therefore brave.

I've always been

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