To all those who read this, consider it an artistic endeavor between the hours of 2 and 4 AM. I apologize beforehand for any mistakes, for this is raw material.

{Act 2, Scene 3: typical late night coffee bar in lower New York City. Seated near the door of the bar we have our tragic hero, the struggling guitarist Nick Fowler (preferably someone looking pale, with lanky blonde hair, and burnt-out blue eyes that look like they've seen one too many nights in smoke-filled bars). With his seat near the door he watches the usual crowd of "starving artists", "pseudo intellectuals", "anguished poets", "caffeine junkies", and "misplaced musicians". (Misplaced referring only to the fact that the majority of the musicians in this particular coffee bar look out of place in this environment filled only with the smoke of clove cigarettes) As Nick gazes towards the door, in walks Lydia Carlton, a tall girl with short brown hair, sparkling hazel eyes, and thin, pale pink lips which are busy entertaining a small, cherry lollipop}

Lydia: {enters on scene, cue wind blowing trash through the door} New York weather. {walks towards the counter, kicking a candy bar wrapper off of her stiletto shoes.} I'd like a vanilla mocha latte with nutmeg.

Nick: {watches Lydia with transfixed desire} Wow.

Cashier: {faking a smile, as he puts down the mug he was polishing} That'll be $4.57.

Lydia: {reaches into her purse and draws a 5 spot. Pauses briefly to adjust her long black skirt so the slits give a fantastic view of her legs} There you are.

Cashier: {faking another smile} Thank you. {handing Lydia a receipt} your number will be called when your order is up. {goes back to polishing the mug}

Lydia: {glances around the room, and takes the stool next to Nick, pausing with a sidelong glance} Hello. {sucking on her lollipop}

Nick: {coming out of a daze of mental concentration} Uh...hi. I'm sorry I didn't mean...

Lydia: {Interrupting} To stare? It's all right. It happens often.

Nick: {blinking} Oh... {blushes}

Lydia: {smiling} I'm Lydia by the way.

Nick: I'm Nick

Lydia: Just Nick? Not Nicholas?

Nick: Everyone calls me Nick, but yesh, Nicholas. What's the difference?

Lydia: {intelligently} Nicholas means ,"victory for the people", Nick is a shallow notch or indentation of the surface.

Nick: {confused} Okay.

Lydia: {smiling} You're a musician, aren't you?

Nick: Uh hu, how'd you know?

Lydia: You're short on words, and musicians always express themselves better on their instruments then they do with their own voice. Besides, I can tell you want me, and you haven't tried to pick me up yet.

Nick: {blushing} ...What about vocalists? They're musicians that use their voices to express themselves.

Lydia: {pondering} Good point. I suppose it depends on whether or not they write their own lyrics. If they do, then they're great at expression, if not they're just using their "instruments" to express someone else's words.

Nick: I guess so. What else makes you think I a musician?

Lydia: Well, you have band aids on your fingers. I assume they're from practice on a steel string electric guitar.

Nick: {stares at Lydia in shock}

Lydia: Besides, {removes the stem of her cherry lollipop and flicks it at the trash can} what other person besides a musician would order a soda in a coffee bar?

Nick: {shrugging} Lot's of people drink soda, and it's a cherry coke. That makes it okay to drink in here.

Lydia: I see.

Nick: So because I'm kind of quiet, I have band aids on my fingers, and I drink cherry coke, I'm a musician?

Lydia: Well actually... {staring off into space} I must admit, last Saturday I saw you playing at The HC Club. I wasn't sure it was you, until I saw your eyes.

Nick: {defensively} What about my eyes?

Lydia: Nothing, they just seem... {searching for the right word} sort of sad, and tired. Does that make sense?

Nick: Oh, yesh. Things have been going kind of bad lately.

Lydia: Yesh? You say it with an sh on the end, it's cute.

Nick: {blushing and putting his head down} I've said it that way since I was a kid.

Cashier: {shouting over the chatter of the bar} Number thirteen, your order's up!

Lydia: {walks to the bar with a sexy swing o' the hips} Thank you. {smiles a genuine smile at the cashier, and walks back to Nick taking her seat once again} So do you have a girlfriend?

Nick: No, that's part of the reason things are bad.

Lydia: Really? {sips at her latte, and then gets a pained expression of sheer horror} Ow! Damnit! Damn! This is hot! I think I burnt my tongue! Ow, fuck!

Nick: {hands his soda to Lydia} Here, drink this! It'll help!

Lydia: {frantically takes the drink and chugs it, her expression is soothed} Mmm. {happily sighing} That helped a lot. {looks Nick in the eyes} Thank you.

Nick: {looking back into Lydia's eyes} No problem.

Lydia: What are you doing right now?

Nick: What do you mean?

Lydia: I mean do you have plans tonight?

Nick: I was going to practice a little, but not really, no. Why?

Lydia: {blushing only ever so slightly} I was thinking... {pauses} I was thinking, if you wanted to, maybe you'd like to come back to my place and continue the conversation?

Nick: {turns away for a moment, then throws Lydia a glance over his shoulder} Yes.

{Nick and Lydia take hands as they walk back out into the night. The couple leaves their drinks on the table. The latte still steaming with thin wisps of white smoke curling in the air, and the cherry coke, still partially full, with a visible mark of pink lipstick on the surface of the glass. The curtain drops. End Scene}

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