The Scene
American harbour, early hours of the morning, cold, foggy, the sound carrying easily through the fog from one yacht to another. Super close.
B: Burling you w^$@r!
P: Up are you dickhead?
B: Only just.
Pause
B: Did I tell you the olds are in town?
P: What’s for tea?
B: You’re not coming you fat prick.
P: Whatever.
Pause
P: I’ll tell your mother you said that.
B: Whatever.
Pause
P: (Silly American drawl) I’ll bring some Bud.
Pause
Long Pause
P: I wonder what she’ll do for us.
B: You know Mum.
Pause
B: Bit sick of freeze dried mate