Finally, after years of hard work, your novel Seldom The Sunshine In Samarra is published and the reviews are glorious ----
SS: Daryl Dark's epic journey through the labyrinth of suburban angst and despair is a must-read classic everyone is talking about ---- and you go on a publicity tour and give readings to audiences of silent adoring fans
(TR: "Jennifer's relationship with Brad had been like what happens when galaxies collide, in that they seemed to pass through each other with little effect, but as time went on, it became apparent that some of Brad had become a part of her, such as his sense of dread and also his black Calvin Klein underwear."-----and you take questions from the crowd
(SS: "How does an author as prolific as yourself manage to be so consistently brilliant?") and you autograph books ----- TR TO HIMSELF AS HE WRITES: To Deirdre, congratulations on the doctorate ------ and then one night the crowd isn't so large and it doesn't applaud when you walk to the podium (FOOTSTEPS)(SILENT, COUGHING, MURMURING)
(TR UNEASILY: are you) and they sit wooden-faced through your reading (TR: -- such as his sense of dread and also his black Calvin Klein underwear."
TR: Any questions?
SS: Yes. What is the perfect past subjunctive tense? And let me hear you use it in a sentence.) All of the questions are hard balls just like that.
(TK:: What is Boyle's Law?
TR: Uh...does that have to do with the temperature of water when it boils?) These people are not fans. They're critics.
(SS: How did you manage to gain thirty pounds in the past six months?) And nobody is buying your book.
(TK:: I'll wait for it to go on sale.) And then you realize.
(TR: It's Littleville. I'm in Littleville.) You're back home. After weeks of accolades on both coasts, you're back in your hometown.
(SS: Whoever told you that that shirt goes with that jacket was colorblind.) Weeping you run (RUNNING FOOTSTEPS) out the door and into the rain (THUNDER, RAIN, FOOTSTEPS) and you get in your car (CAR STARTS, PULLS AWAY) and you drive to the airport and go through security -----
(SS: Face forward, hold your arms to the side, and explain the Third Law of Thermodynamics) ------ and you hop on a plane headed for L.A. (JET ENGINE)
(TR: They love me in L.A. I'm on a best-seller list in L.A.) and the flight is rather full and you wind up in a middle seat between a nervous guy and a blind woman and her seeing-eye dog (DOG SNIFFING) ---- the nervous guy is on his fourth beer (POP TOP) and he has a bladder the size of a thimble and he has to keep climbing over you to get to the bathroom (TK:: 'Scuse me. 'Scuse me. 'Scuse me. (THUD)
TR: Ow! TK:: 'Scuse me.) and the blind woman is kind of chatty -----
(SS: You mind if I touch your face? I like to guess people's ages by touch. Just relax. I won't hurt you.) ----- and the nervous guy falls asleep (TK: SNORING) with half a can of beer in his hand which he spills on you (TR CRY OF ALARM) ----
(SS: I'd guess you're about sixty-eight -----
TR: Sixty-eight?? I'm 43!!!!) (DOG WOOFS) ----and the sleeping guy puts his head on your shoulder and starts snuggling up to you (MMMM)----just as the plane hits turbulence (SHAKING) and the pilot comes on the p.a. (TK: SHAKING VIOLENTLY: We are experiencing a little light chop right now. Please return to your seats.) (GLASS BREAKING) and the blind lady's dog is trying to lead her to the nearest exit (DOG WHINING) and the nervous guy wakes up (TK:: Hey, the wings are flapping.) And then he recognizes you----- (TK: DRUNK: Hi, I love your work. It's beautiful. It changed my life.) ----(THEME) Wouldn't this be a good time for a piece of rhubarb pie?
Yes, nothing gets the taste of fear and humiliation out of your mouth like Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.

But one little thing can revive a guy,
And that is home-made rhubarb pie.
Serve it up, nice and hot.
Maybe things aren't as futile as you thought.
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.
Mama's little baby loves rhubarb, rhubarb,
Beebopareebop Rhubarb Pie.