Morning in Manhattan

ME (flipping through hanging clothes): What is this? Is this your jacket? When did this get here? I don’t recognize it.

DREW (without looking up from his book): Yes, it’s a jacket.

ME: Yours? It’s not mine.


ME: You are ignoring me.

DREW: No, I’m busy picturing throwing this book at you. It just bounced off your head and make a really good sound. 

ME: Really.

DREW: Yes, and now you’re laying on the floor silent. You’ve been knocked out cold.

ME: Well, I suppose a man can dream, Andrew.

DREW (smiling, eyes closed): Shhhhh….


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