"send your son my regards, major vasilica.
how old is he now?"

"ten."

"and my condolences -- "

"yes, of course."

"she was a fine woman -
I'm sure it's been a great loss..."

"no."

"...i won't argue. i suppose failure is your choice to make, julian."

"i don't want anything to do with it - you're all sick in the head."

"you're the sick one - no, you make me sick."

"are you saying you regret me? hate me? i'm sure mom would love to hear that."

"it's been four years, julian..."

[ BLACK OUT. ]

"fuck you, fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you, fuck you. fuck you.
fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you. fuck you, fuck you."

[ the scene is on the wet street. the occasional car drives by.
JULIAN walks stage right, and falls offstage into an unlit doorway. ]

"you're not coming back."

"no, father."

"it's better this way."

[ 2217. 517B. the stage is empty, the seats are full. ]