Picture it: Hager walks in and everyone's got their own cup of booze. Not easy to hide, right? But if there's just one bottle, it's a cinch. Just means the guy holding it's gotta stay sharp.
Realistically? Pay my way into an Ivy, get whatever degree my father wants me to get, then graduate and let my real life begin. Once I'm out on my own, he can't control me. Four more years of waiting's not so bad when you've got a whole future ahead of you, right?
Ideally? Run away. Hitch a ride to San Francisco, or a boat to Paris. Play music for a living. Be broke and happy, like a real artist.
My parents are really hoping I get into an Ivy too, like my brother. I don't know if they actually expect me to-- or if they'd even notice. They talk about finance all the time and how there's lots of jobs there.
If I could do anything though... probably write and travel.
[ Charlie could give a shit about talk of colleges and jobs. Finance– of course. In some nightmare world, he and Todd could be bankers at the same firm.
The thought sits bitter on his tongue. That's not what he wants to focus on. ]
[ Charlie asks the questions that he's afraid to-- that most people are afraid to. It used to (and sometimes still does) irritate Todd and yet he's ultimately grateful for a friend who asks him things even though they're hard.
He's not an amoeba anymore. ]
Anywhere. Far away. Find Route 66 and hitchhike? No. Get a car and drive.
Even farther if I can. See Spain like Hemingway. Write about being free and find out what life has in store.
Alright. It's settled. You wind up in Spain, I wind up in France. We meet in the middle and remember how boring life could've been if we'd followed after our fathers.
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If not there's water glasses?
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I just
didn't really consider that as an option.
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Picture it: Hager walks in and everyone's got their own cup of booze. Not easy to hide, right? But if there's just one bottle, it's a cinch. Just means the guy holding it's gotta stay sharp.
So what I'm saying is let me hold it.
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It almost makes the loud saxophone playing tolerable... almost. ]
Good thing no one is getting caught then.
I can sit against the door if we need to; that way when it opens we get a few seconds more to hide stuff.
[ He's always excelled at being dead weight. ]
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Who's it gonna be? Just the three of us?
[ Neil and the two guys obsessed with Neil. What a party. ]
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Yeah, I think so. If you wanted to invite anyone you could.
Not girls though. That would probably be hard.
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I should know, I've tried.
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Can I ask you something?
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Yeah. Shoot.
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What do you think you're going to do after Welton?
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I want to know ideally too.
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Ideally? Run away. Hitch a ride to San Francisco, or a boat to Paris. Play music for a living. Be broke and happy, like a real artist.
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I could see you playing the saxophone in either of those places.
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What about you?
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If I could do anything though... probably write and travel.
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The thought sits bitter on his tongue. That's not what he wants to focus on. ]
Travel where? Write about what? Keep going.
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He's not an amoeba anymore. ]
Anywhere. Far away. Find Route 66 and hitchhike? No. Get a car and drive.
Even farther if I can. See Spain like Hemingway. Write about being free and find out what life has in store.
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Think you'd buy a house there or travel around?