The scene: a pizza restaurant. Waiting by the sign that says “Please wait here to be seated” are The xx. They look a bit miserable.
WAITRESS: Table for three?
THE XX: (Shrug in unison)
WAITRESS: This way please!
(They all sit down and look at menus.)
JAMIE (sighing heavily): Nothing could have stopped them. Or us. Or the end of reality.
OLIVER: When you’re trapped in reality, you’re trapped in unreality. There are universes inside universes.
ROMY: We didn’t have a choice. We had to do it. For the future.
WAITRESS: Can I get you some drinks?
OLIVER: Numbness. It abides. Like an illness.
ROMY: No-one remembered me. Not until later.
JAMIE: I don’t wanna. I don’t wanna. Oh.
WAITRESS: I’ll just get a jug of water for you and come back in a minute to take your food orders.
OLIVER: Maybe. Maybe. The love is gone, now, anyway.
JAMIE: Put yourself on.
OLIVER: Air. Heaven. The sea.
ROMY: There was no answer. I. You. Feel.
JAMIE (Nodding): Soundless! Soundwaves. Shockwaves. (He casts a sidelong look at the salad bar.)
WAITRESS: Here’s your water, guys. Have you decided what you’d like?
OLIVER: I’d like the rose above the clouds. I’d like the shimmer of the distant hot desert. I’d like your skin, shrouding you in the dusk. I’d like a waterfall of milk and heartbreak. I’d like formless ideas in a rainbow. I’d like new life expanding out of old. I’d like the death of art and the rebirth of reborn-art. I’d like to see the sky on other worlds. Those worlds are places to fall in love in. Those worlds are places where we grow and fall in love and die, and that’s the entirety of existence. That’s what we’re here for, beginning and end, formative and transitive, matter and antimatter.
JAMIE: I’ll have a Hawaiian, please. And a side salad.