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?