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As the lights go up, Philip is sitting on the stone at stage right, sketching. He is behind an easel that is not much higher than his knees, so that he can be clearly seen. An open knapsack full of art supplies leans against the stone, along with a thermos. Sheets with rough sketches are fanned out neatly on the ground in front of him. June enters from stage left, carrying a large canvas purse over her shoulder. She stops in her tracks the moment she sees Philip. She is surprised, confused. She creeps up behind him in slow, soundless steps.
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| JUNE:
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Who are you?!
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| PHILIP:
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(JUMPS) Oh..
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| JUNE:
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What are you doing here?
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| PHILIP:
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This is a public park.
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| JUNE:
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No. This is my spot. No one ever comes out this way. (PAUSE) You're not supposed to be here. That's why I came. To be alone.
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| PHILIP:
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You can be alone. I won't bother you. You can do whatever it is you always do. You won't even know I'm here.
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| JUNE:
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I bet. (PAUSE) The thing is you're here, right, so it's kinda hard to pretend you're not here when you are here. It'd be much easier if you weren't here at all.
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| PHILIP:
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But I am here. There's plenty of room for both of us. Really, there is.
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| JUNE:
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(To herself) Oh, Jesus!
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She gets down on her knees and begins to collect the rough sketches laid out by the easel.
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| PHILIP:
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Don't touch those! Please.
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| JUNE:
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You're making a mess of things. Look how you've littered the grass!
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| PHILIP:
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That's not litter. I need those.
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| JUNE:
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hese?
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| PHILIP:
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They're my rough sketches. I may need them later.
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| JUNE:
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When are you leaving?
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| PHILIP:
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I don't know. (PAUSE) How long are you staying?
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| JUNE:
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You can't stay. Not here. Not now.
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| PHILIP:
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Why not?
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| JUNE:
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It...It's six o'clock in the morning. Saturday morning. You should be home, sleeping or something.
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| PHILIP:
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I'd rather be here.
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June sits down on the stone at stage left, distraught. She pulls a pipe out of her jacket pocket and quickly fills it with tobacco, spilling some of it onto the ground.
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| JUNE:
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Light.
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| PHILIP:
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Pardon?
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| JUNE:
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A light. Do you have a light? A match. A lighter, maybe. Something with a flame.
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| PHILIP:
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No, I'm sorry, I don't. I don't smoke.
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| JUNE:
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Me neither.
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| PHILIP:
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Isn't that a pipe?
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| JUNE:
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Yes.
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| PHILIP:
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I thought you said you didn't smoke?
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| JUNE:
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I don't. (PAUSE) This is my husband's pipe.
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| PHILIP:
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Your husband?
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| JUNE:
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My husband's pipe, my husband's jacket, my husband's pants. (STICKS FEET OUT, SMILES PROUDLY) My shoes.
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| PHILIP:
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Very nice. You and your husband obviously share a lot.
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| JUNE:
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We did. He's dead.
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| PHILIP:
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I'm...I'm sorry.
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| JUNE:
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I bet.
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| PHILIP:
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No, really I am. (PAUSE) I'm Philip.
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| JUNE:
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I'm sure.
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Philip returns to his sketching. June empties pipe tobacco into her hand, and then drops tobacco and pipe it into her jacket pocket.
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| JUNE:
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June.
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| PHILIP:
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Sorry?
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| JUNE:
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June. My name's June. They thought I'd arrive in June, but I was three weeks early. Born in May, but still called June. Don't know why I was in such a rush to get out. Any earlier and I might've been called April. You'd think they'd have called me May, but, no, they stuck with June. June it is. Beats May. May is too doubtful. May I do this? May I do that?
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June begins to stare at Philip as he sketches.
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| PHILIP:
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You're making this difficult.
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| JUNE:
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What?
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| PHILIP:
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Staring at me like that. I know what you're trying to do. It won't work.
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| JUNE:
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What won't work?
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| PHILIP:
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Trying to stare me down so I'll leave.
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| JUNE:
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How long are you going to do that for?
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| PHILIP:
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I don't know. For as long as it takes, I suppose. I've never drawn from this side of the park.
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| JUNE:
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What are you drawing?
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| PHILIP:
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The lake, the trees. A woman reading a book.
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| JUNE:
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(LEANS FORWARD, SQUINTS) What woman?
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| PHILIP:
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She's not actually there. I'm adding her in.
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| JUNE:
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You shouldn't do that, putting people in places where they don't belong.
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| PHILIP:
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I'm not. (LAUGHS SOFTLY) No, no. This is a sketch, not a photograph. You're allowed certain liberties when you draw, you're encouraged to break a few rules. I need that freedom.
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| JUNE:
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It's dishonest.
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| PHILIP:
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Oh no, it's not dishonest, not at all. You see, I'm not recording a scene, I'm interpreting it. There's a big difference.
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| JUNE:
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Maybe. I still don't think it's fair.
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| PHILIP:
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Of course it's fair. No one's claiming this is the real thing. I'm not out to deceive anyone.
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| JUNE:
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It's not fair to that woman.
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| PHILIP:
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But there is no woman. There's no woman, there's no book. I made it all up.
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| JUNE:
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Exactly. That's why it's unfair. You shouldn't draw people who aren't there.
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| PHILIP:
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What's out there doesn't really matter. What's important is to draw what you see. Out there, by those grey stones. What do you see?
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| JUNE:
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A couple of trees.
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| PHILIP:
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I also see trees. But when I look closer, I see a woman reading a book. She's leaning against a tree. I think she's wearing a hat. Yes. Yes, she is. She's wearing a straw hat with a bow. She's waiting for a friend. When the friend arrives they'll share some wine and cheese from a basket. But I won't draw the friend. Not today. I'll draw the friend another time. Or I may not draw the friend at all. I might only draw an empty wine bottle by a tree, and nothing else. Just a bottle and a tree. You see, that's what's important. That I draw whatever I feel like drawing. That I draw what I feel needs to be drawn. It doesn't matter what's actually out there. That's just a starting point, a beginning. I start with a blank sheet and piece of charcoal and just do it. The scenery out there, it's just a means to an end.
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| JUNE:
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I know how it works. He was a painter, too.
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| PHILIP:
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Who?
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| JUNE:
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My husband. I was his favourite subject, his only subject, his one and only. He must've painted me a thousand times. June with big eyes, June with long legs. June with a red, red mouth. June with perfect hands. Really nice. Lots of colours. None of them looked anything like me. (PAUSE) I burned them all.
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| PHILIP:
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You what?
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| JUNE:
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I burned them.
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| PHILIP:
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Oh, you shouldn't have done that.
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| JUNE:
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How do you know? You didn't see them. You don't know what they looked like.
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| PHILIP:
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I know I wouldn't have burned them, no matter what they looked like. You should never burn a painting. Never.
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| JUNE:
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Well, that's your opinion. Some things are better off burned.
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| PHILIP:
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Garbage should be burned, not paintings.
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| JUNE:
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His paintings were garbage.
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| PHILIP:
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I doubt that.
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| JUNE:
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How would you know? You've never seen them.
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| PHILIP:
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I don't have to see them. It's wrong to burn paintings. They may be very bad but they shouldn't be burned. You know what they say. You start to burn paintings, then you're burning books. Next thing you know, you're burning people.
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| JUNE:
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Whoever said that never saw my husband's paintings. Besides, who are you to talk, tossing your drawings like cigarette butts onto my grass.
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| PHILIP:
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Those haven't been burned. I may still use them. They can be salvaged.
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| JUNE:
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His work wasn't worth salvaging.
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| PHILIP:
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They were probably more flattering than you realize. Your husband was lucky to have someone like you posing for him.
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| JUNE:
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What I did wasn't posing. You don't know what posing is.
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| PHILIP:
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Oh, I do. I've posed myself.
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| JUNE:
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No, you haven't.
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| PHILIP:
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I have.
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| JUNE:
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Not really.
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| PHILIP:
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Yes, really.
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| JUNE:
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You haven't.
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| PHILIP:
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I have.
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| JUNE:
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Haven't.
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| PHILIP:
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I have! Believe me, I have.
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| JUNE:
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My husband had this closet full of old clothes, things he picked up at flea markets and bazaars. Bargains at second-hand stores. One week I'm Cleopatra, the next week I'm a gangster's moll. Every Sunday, from nine `til four. I wasn't allowed to move. (FREEZES ON THE SPOT) He gave me a five-minute break every two hours. Get a glass of water, go to the bathroom. Which isn't easy when you're dressed in a petticoat. Then back to work, standing or sitting like a slab, barely breathing, dressed like a cowgirl or a mermaid, playing Mae West or Marilyn Monroe six, seven hours at a stretch.
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| PHILIP:
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I'm sure...
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| JUNE:
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Don't you move an inch, you understand? Not an inch. Stay like that for a few minutes and see what it feels like. Imagine sitting like that for five hours. Your head turns to stone, your bones feel like they're held together by pins. You're dressed like a peacock and told to smile, smile, smile. Try to imagine. You can try, but you'll never know. You weren't there. You can't know what it's really like. Can you?
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| PHILIP:
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I don't ...
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| JUNE:
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Don't move! Blink. You can blink. See what I mean? See? That's what it was like, every Sunday, for five years. Five fucking years. You can't handle five minutes.
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Long silence falls between them.
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| PHILIP:
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Coffee. How about a cup of coffee? You look like you could use a cup.
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| JUNE:
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Yes! Yes. I'd love some coffee.
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