SAM
So, you're really getting antsy to write me, eh? [takes a smoke.]
[He leans back in his chair. I can see him clearer now. His beard is scraggly, curling up and around itself. The smell of cheap cigarettes seems to linger around him. There's a mole on his upper lip...]
SAM
What're you gawking at?
[A discoloured patch of skin sits underneath his left eye, a kind of brown-green. His lip has a scar, a sharp tear towards its right corner. His face is coated in a light array of wrinkles.]
SAM
Yeah, fuck, I'm old. I get it, alright?
[He speaks with a tone both of authority, and fear.]
SAM
What, you want me to psychoanalyze you while you sit there in your apartment typing silently? "[He leans back in his chair, quietly. His cheeks dotted with the faint remnants of horrible acne.]" Fuck off!
PAUL
Okay, I'm sorry. I'm hurting you.
SAM
Yeah, you fucking are. Think you're the first to look at me like that?
PAUL
What do you mean?
SAM
Cut that fucking music you have playing!
[I stop my music.]
[SAM gets up from his chair, and readjusts that faint green military-type jacket. He flips me the bird.]
SAM
Just fuck off, you pretentious shit-bag!
PAUL
Wait! Hold on! I didn't mean to upset you so much!
[The door to the outside closes.]
[I'm... I'm alone here.]
[He doesn't want to talk.]