ITALIAN GENIUS: Use your fucking brain.
DUTCH GENIUS: I don’t feel like it. I’d rather use… my arms [they embrace]
ITALIAN GENIUS: [His face mashed into the DUTCH GENIUS‘s shoulder, not without affection] You’re such … a freaking… murmbrling…
DUTCH GENIUS: Love is painful, no?
ITALIAN GENIUS: Yeah. And music is popular. What’s fer dinner?
DUTCH GENIUS: I made rabbits.
ITALIAN GENIUS: Great! My paunch is as empty as your head, dummy. Let’s eat!
DUTCH GENIUS: They’re still stewing.
ITALIAN GENIUS: God, you’re a dummy. A beautiful dummy. [Pouting. Whole face a droopy vector down. Begins crying. On a screen behind them a film is projected: New York City in the early nineties. Pizzerias, trees, fire hydrants, marijuana cigarettes, tobacco cigarettes, brownstones, sedans, moustaches, skinny jeans, receipts on little plastic dishes, piled under change.]
DUTCH GENIUS: Isn’t it fabulous that the word where contains the word here?