CHARLIE is down in his bunker, which could resist
the explosion of a nuclear bomb. He is hanging
post-it notes on the wall. The post-it notes are
covered with words. The door that he’s watching
out of the corner of his eye is big and metal and
has one of those spinning steel doorknobs that
looks like a pirate wheel.
BAKER opens the door, which is a laborious
process, and enters. She shuts the door, and walks
in looking pretty tired.
Hey, don’t even ask me about all these-BAKER
God this is a shit day. Oh god. How could everything
possibly be such shit?
Oh, jeez, what? Baker, I’m sorry. I-BAKER
Me. I’m shit.
No way. I don’t-- That sounds terrible.
It’s fine, it is, I’m just terrible, and an idiot, and
everyone else is even worse.
Hey, I don’t think so. Why are you--- what makes you-sorry, one sec, I’ve been workin’ on something.
CHARLIE puts another post-it on the wall, as if he
really might have had to do that just that moment.
Hey, so tell me about your day. Unless you don’t want
to-- but you honestly really should!
I feel like a fat.. dirty, piggy. Waiting to get my
head cut off. What do we have to eat?
Hey, stop-- you don’t need to eat. If-- iff that’s part
of your pig thing, I mean.
(looking back at the kitchen nook)