No Stranger Than Love Page #4

have a life with, that I could love.

I don't know, doesn't that idea just drive you nuts?

I mean, in this town, there are men...

Oh, please name one?

Name ten.

Include addresses.

You know, I just think that

anybody could love anybody.

I mean, that's what I think.

No?

Yeah, I liked where the table was, Luce.

This is nowhere.

Well, I'm just experimenting.

Hello?

- Clint Coburn.

- Ugh.

Clint Coburn?

Yeah, he's one of the guys in town

that I'm kind of attracted to.

He's married.

I'm just talking about being attracted.

- Sorry, hello.

- No.

- What do you mean, no?

- No attraction, none.

He's a football coach.

It's like a...

It's like a lion tamer.

It's not a real thing to be.

- Yeah, no.

- Yeah.

Is everything okay?

Oh, fine, fine, just a little emergency.

- Oh.

- School, nothing big.

But, so upsy-Daisy.

I guess we gotta wrap it up a

bit early-ish, I am so sorry.

No, go, go, go, go!

Go, we can clean up. Go.

But I like cleaning up.

I'm less than halfway done with my

French cruller, I'm not budging. So go.

- It's fine.

- Bye.

Bye.

Who's next?

Oh, I'd like to go.

Um, okay, is it a deal breaker

if the guy has no teeth?

I was waiting for your guests to leave.

- This is a mid-station.

- My God!

I had nowhere else to go.

My heart.

I had nowhere else to go.

I'm sorry.

- Everybody's after me.

- I know. I know.

- Wait, you know?

- The police just called. They want to talk to me.

- About you.

- Oh, God!

What did you do?

- Nothing.

- Nothing?

No, absolutely nothing.

I swear to you.

Well, but they said you ran away.

Yeah, I did. Do you think

I could hide out in your house

- for a little while?

- No!

No, I mean after your guests leave.

- No!

- Well, okay, then.

- Well, you better start going.

- Where?

To the police station. They're expecting

you, aren't they? Talk to them.

You talk to them!

They're looking for you!

- I can't, they'll arrest me.

- Why, if you did nothing?

Because they think I did. They

think he's missing because of me.

What kind of a town is this?

I walk into a bar and everyone's pointing at me

and shouting about Clint Coburn

and then some guy lunges at me.

It's a nightmare.

And... and I just ran.

I just left my car there and I ran.

And it's not even my car.

It's my idiot brother's car!

I'm so tired of myself.

Why am I like this?

How much money does Clint Coburn owe?

How do you know he owes money?

Well, isn't it obvious?

Is it?

You don't know him, you're looking

for him, you seem all mysterious.

- Mysterious, really?

- Yes!

Mysterious in a threatening kind of way?

Yes, I would say you seem threatening, yes.

All right, well, I'm happy to hear you say that.

'Cause, these aren't even my pants.

I think I can do this.

I just gotta find him.

That's all, just get this over with.

Where is he?

Where is this man?

I'm turning into the parking lot.

- Oh, Lordie. Lay low, lay low.

- I'm low, I'm low.

- Lower!

- No, there isn't lower.

- Hey, Lucy!

- Hey!

I've come to offer you my personal support.

I nearly tackled the lunatic in

the bar but he stiff-armed me.

- Mmm-hmm.

- He's gigantic.

- Oh.

- Come on, I'll walk you in.

Okay.

So, he got out of his car, and

when he came over to your car,

his face was covered with blood.

I wouldn't say covered with blood.

He was bleeding a little.

Did you ever look in his car?

- No.

- No?

No.

And so it is possible that Clint

Coburn was already in that car,

and that the blood was caused by

a struggle between the two men.

Howard, why would he be looking for Clint Coburn

if Clint Coburn was sitting right in his car?

- To throw you off the track.

- Off what track, Howard?

See, you have no feel for this

because you have absolutely no

aptitude whatsoever for deceit.

You believe that the world is good

and that good people tell the truth.

Howard, I have people at my house.

Okay, Lucy.

I just want to thank you for coming down.

God damn.

I like the looks of your hair.

Is that a crime? No.

Yeah, I'd have kept running after

him, but I tripped on my shoelace.

- Oh.

- Yeah.

Hey, where's my bike?

Someone stole my bike.

Howard! Howard!

I'm not behaving rationally.

Art is the human effort

to position forms, sounds, colors, and other elements

into an entity that manipulates the sense of beauty.

Did you come here to tell me that?

No.

Then why did you come here?

I don't know.

What did you mean when you said

that you were tired of yourself?

Okay.

Here's the big joke in my family.

My parents work in the iron and steel business.

My mother irons.

My father steals.

Decent joke, right?

The thing is, it's not really a joke.

It's kind of the truth.

My mom stays home.

My dad's a crook.

I have three older brothers.

They're crooks too.

They hate it when I call them that.

They say, "bookies, a**hole.

"We're professionals gamblers."

Fine.

When I was little, my brothers would jump on me

and Randy would hold down my arms

and Craig would hold down my legs

and my oldest brother Jamie would stick

his fingers into my armpits and tickle me

and tickle me and tickle me until I

did not have enough air for noise.

And I thought... I actually

thought this, "I'm going to die.

"I'm going to die."

My dad would see this,

and he'd say, "you're being

tickled, for Christ's sake.

"Laugh, God damn it, laugh."

Everyone's laughing and I'm not laughing.

I wrote a poem.

I wrote a poem for my date to the high school prom.

And my brothers found this and they

posted it on the bulletin board

like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen.

And I... I don't even know why I'm

telling you all this right now.

Except that's how I feel, like I

don't have enough breath for noise.

So, here I am.

There's blood caked in my hair, I'm

sleeping in a tiny car that's not mine,

I'm stealing bicycles,

townspeople are chasing me through the streets

while I search for someone who doesn't exist.

Why?

Because everyone in my family

wants me to be something

that I can't be. Can not be!

Can not!

And I don't have the balls to say "f*** off.

"F*** off, everyone.

I want different things."

You know, my dad cheats on my mom

and my mom cheats on my dad,

my brothers cheat on their wives and

their wives cheat on my brothers

and all they do with their lives

is make lots and lots of money.

From nothing but other money and I say,

"I want nothing to do with it."

They keep on saying, "taste it, taste it, taste it.

"Just once and if you don't

like it, you can spit it out."

And I'm spitting it out. I don't like it.

I want something different.

I... I hate it.

You know, I want to be someone who says,

"hey, how about adding something

good to the sh*t-pile?

"And you know what, you're wrong, it's

a fine poem and here's what I want,

"and here's what I'm gonna do,

and this is who I wanna be

"and this is who I am."

But do I say these things?

No! I do not.

Why can't I be the guy who says those

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