[Mid-afternoon. The airport express bus trundles down the Don Gardiner Expressway, headed into Toronto’s downtown. Schmutzie and Palinode, slightly sticky and drowsy from a day of travel, relax into their seats. Schmutzie flicks through Twitter on her phone.]
Palinode: Say. Do you know what happens when the night falls?
Schmutzie: It gets dark?
Schmutzie: It gets cold?
Palinode: Ha-ha, no.
Schmutzie: You’re playing some game and you won’t tell me what it is and you should stop.
Palinode: When the night falls, my loneliness calls.
Palinode: Because I want to dance with somebody.
Schmutzie: You’re… horny?
Palinode: I want to feel the heat with somebody.
Schmutzie: And slutty too, I guess.
Palinode: Yes, I want to dance with somebody. With somebody who loves me.
[Schmutzie goes back to her tweets. Palinode looks out the window (counting the cars on the Lakeshore Blvd turnpike).]
Palinode: Oh! I almost forgot. Do you know what happens every time I think of you?
Schmutzie: I don’t really want to know.
Palinode: I get so emotional. Every time I think of you, as I said.
Schmutzie: What are you doing?
Palinode: It’s the Whitney Houston Quiz Hour.
Schmutzie: I don’t like it!
Palinode: Well, you can’t do anything about the time.