A little house on the edge of the woods up in suburban London. RIMI crashes in through the front door of their shared house belting out "Barbaran" by The Beach Boys. OWEN sits with a white Macbook in a chair by the window eating a plate of hot delicious food; the little monster enters his serene space.
RIMI: OH MY GOD I AM SO HUNGRY I AM GOING TO DIE!
RIMI forages through cupboard drawers and opens and shuts the fridge door. Flings herself on to the shit-couch. OWEN pays no attention.
RIMI: Do you have a banana?
RIMI: I asked – Do you have a banana?
OWEN gets up to take a second helping of his delicious food.
OWEN: NO. I don’t have a banana. I had one yesterday but I ate it.
RIMI: Oh god.
OWEN: Sorry. Why don’t you go to the shop?
RIMI: I know I will. It’s just enough of a feat getting home.
OWEN: Maybe you should have done your shop before you got on the train.
RIMI: Yeah maybe. Jesus.
OWEN gets up to go and wash his plate.
OWEN: (Said through the kitchen door) I’m only making minor adjustments to your… hapless life. I’m trying to improve it. Raise you out of first world problems.
RIMI: Sorry all I can hear is broken mumbles of crap advice.
OWEN re-enters and hurriedly leaves the room.
RIMI slowly peels herself off the shit-couch and goes to get a bowl. She fills the bowl with branflakes and soya milk. Returns to the shit-couch and begins to munch it down with a soup spoon.
OWEN hurriedly re-enters the room with a bass in one hand and some loose sheets of paper in the other. He is in a rush.
RIMI: Where are you going?
OWEN: Bloody Russians.
OWEN: You found some food.
RIMI: Cereal’s all I got.
OWEN: Such a short-term solution to a long-term problem.
RIMI: Hunger is an eternal problem. We’ll never beat it.
OWEN is on the floor looking for his shoes, which are under RIMI’s chair. He reaches under her chair and she lifts her legs up but not enough to help him.
RIMI: Why are all the cups and plates chipped?
OWEN: I don’t know. Probably because we keep dropping them. What I want to know is where are all the spoons?
RIMI: I know. Where are all the spoons!?
OWEN puts on his jacket and stuffs one pocket full with the loose sheets of paper he was holding. Tying his shoelaces.
OWEN: One of these days I’m going to be on time for something.
RIMI: Do you think?
OWEN: I hope.
OWEN exits through the front door. Re-enters as he has forgotten his bass. Re-exits. RIMI remains on the shit-couch munching cereal for eternity.