TIMOTHY AND RODAN BEFORE THE SPEECH, TALKING ABOUT THE SPEECH, THE ESCAPE, THE SHINY STRIPES ON THE SIDES OF TUXEDO PANTS…
“I don’t know how to give this speech.”
“That can, yes, be the best way to give this speech,” Rodan said.
“I don’t think so,” he pulled dozens of index cards from his pants pockets. “I sat up last night rewriting it and rewriting it.”
Rodan handed him more index cards.
“Here use these, because I wrote them for you a HUNDRED TIMES too.”
“Don’t snot all over yourself. You can use yours too. Use them all… this is your big farewell, so just keep going. The armed guards on the stages are imaginary, or maybe they’re real, but either way, they’re not there for you, but maybe for the vice president who is receiving a broadcast award. I don’t know the avenues or the truths. Just do what feels natural. Read until the milk cows come home for good, and then we’ll go to Berlin. What’s the worst that happens?”
“The guards shoot me.”
“No. The worst is that they don’t, and you’re left waiting for them to do it though. And you spend your whole stupid life waiting.”
“The best is they do it and you’re free – or maybe someone who hates you brings in a plastic gun, like the bald man in the movie where he practices on ducks, and no Costner is there to save you…”
“Did you see that they can print those on 3-D printers now?”
“A Kevin Costner?”
“No, a gun.”
“Not as impressive.”