INT: Gary’s house.
Gary: Tony. It is you.
Tony: Alright mate? Fancy a can of beer and talk about girls then? Birds, I should say.
Tony: Oh. What, then?
Gary: Tony. I am evicting you. You have now lived here for fourteen years, with no rent being paid. Your bedroom is covered in feces and sick. I’m fairly sure you haven’t eaten. Your complexion is pallid, and your skin, almost translucent. You make me nauseous. You exude a stench.
Tony: Birds love a man’s scent, mate.
Gary: Yes, perhaps. But not the scent of shit and sick.
Tony: Come on, mate. What about the good times?
Gary: They were, at best, fleeting. In reality, the childish laddisms we shat out distracted us from the very real problems of impotence. I am now impotent. I am constantly, and chronically flaccid. I can never have children. I don’t remember what an erection is like. Age is robbing me of my fervency and acuity. And you, you are also, like me, dying, slowly perhaps, but irrevocably.
Gary: Now, please leave. I am going to sit here and ponder my wretched existence. Your stuff is in bin bags in the bin outside. Fuck off.