Him: “My dearest, as I expire dramatically in this wheat field, while the city where we met burns to mere ashes in the background, know that I have always loved you, and the image of your beautiful face will be with me always, Maria.”
Her: “That was so sweet of you to say. But I’m not Maria. I just wanted to know if you had change for a five.”
Him: “Change for a… what have you done with Maria? She was here mere seconds ago, just before the bit player that nobody suspected shot me with a spear gun. Not that you could hear it, because this is a silent movie. But still.”
Her: “I didn’t do anything with Maria. I don’t know Maria. But I do know that the taxi driver behind me is somewhat expecting a tip, especially since we made passionate love behind that one gas station that wasn’t burning. He taught me things I never imagined and I will forever cherish the smell of petrol in the morning. Full-service gas stations are hard to find these days, you know.”
Him: “Pardon me for saying this, but I sense these might be my last words and I really don’t see the need for formality. You seem a bit self-centered, babbling on about tips and petrol and clandestine orgasms whilst I’m bleeding out amongst the amber waves of grain. Are you an American?”
Her: “I don’t see any blood, which makes me wonder if you’re lying about who got speared. Are you a Russian president?”
Him: “It’s a black-and-white movie. The blood angle is tricky for the prop department. But trust, my life is ebbing. Just like the meandering point of this whole script.”
Her: “Oh. Well, perhaps we need an infusion of new blood. That always seems to be an important development in movies about medical trauma and sad people crying in the waiting room.”
Taxi Driver, wandering up, not Robert DeNiro: “Hey, folks. The director just sent me in for some scene salvage. What can I do to get things moving again so we can wrap this shoot up before happy hour ends?”
Him: “Oh, he’s kinda cute. I like swarthy.”
Her: “I thought you liked Marias.”
Him: “Oh, honey, you and your abysmal hat should realize this is Hollywood. We all pretend to like things that we don’t as long as we get cast in the movie.”
Her: “But he really did crash into me behind the gas station. At least I think he did. It was a little hard to see clearly, what with the annoying smoke from that stupid burning city over there.”
Taxi Driver, still not Robert: “Oh, I definitely had my dipstick in your motor oil.”
Her: “See!”
Taxi Driver: “But I played switch-hitter on my high-school baseball team. And it kinda stuck.”
Her: “Damn. The pretty ones always have secrets. Well, you play the cards you’ve been dealt. I’m off to fire my agent.” She exited stage left, whipping out her cell phone and leaving a violent message on somebody’s answering machine.
Taxi Driver drove into her previous position, placing a switch-hitting hand on the chest of the Speared One. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
Him: “I’m hoping you are.”
Taxi Driver: “Sure, sure. But first, do you have change for a five? I owe some money to the scriptwriter who worked me into this scene.”
Fin.
Previously published, modified considerably. The original was only the first two lines of dialogue, and I probably should have left such alone, but I was feeling a bit festive and things got away from me, which is the very essence of Bonnywood.
Categories: Past Imperfect
Bonnywood Manor 
President Pump? Always up but never ready? 😉
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And all of his valves are broken…
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Ahhh… the Bubbles have left you feeling effervescent. I love it! 😍✨🌈
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She does that to me. Of course, the sugar high will soon wear off and tomorrow I’ll scribble a depressing poem about mud flaps and abandonment… 😉
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Full service stations, sweaty gas jockeys, lug nets, wrenches, loose wenches, where will it end?
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As soon as we spend the rest of the five bucks…
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Nothing quite like feeling festive. Maria would have loved it.
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She’s probably singing about it right now in an Austrian meadow….
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Corruption, corruption…
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Are you in a Trump staff meeting right now?
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Feeling festive? I think I need to switch gas stations….
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Be sure to go before five so you can get happy-hour prices. And they offer a free buffet on Thursdays…
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The first few lines of your blogs usually get me smiling and I am bound to read to the end. Today was the same, loved the set scene, dying last words in the field held in the arms of Maria. (I could hear the end of El Paso – Marty Robbins ; Maria holding the cowboy as he says good-bye). But your Maria wanted change for tip! Travesty! LOL Entertaining as always my friend. Salut to you Brian
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Thanks, David. You know, I’ve recently been contemplating taking the lyrics to older songs and offering a Bonnywood take on what they might actually mean. Perhaps this was a subconscious trial run? Hmm.
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Er, I got distracted reading that comment above mine (well on MY screen, I have no idea how these comments shake down in YOUR world) … the sad damsel in Marty Robbin’s epic “El Paso”, which spawned El Paso City AND Feleena (the actual name of the slutty girl who started all that love triangle mess amid the desert sands of Texas). Maria doesn’t enter any picture of any Marty song of which I’m aware.
But that’s NOT Marty Robbins, dying because he was shot, after killing that Taxi Driver (nod to Robert de Niro whom you failed to mention in your helpful little blurb at the bottom of your post, which gives those of us without a clue, some guidelines as to the people IN the shot)…for dipping his oil stick in Feleena’s reserve. Even if she DID take the cap off first (I SWEAR I thought it was the gear shift!! ) .. Oh man. I got lost here. Again. Apologies. Now tell me. That gas station behind which taxi frolics of the uncensored kind arose. Was that the station where you nearly missed your death while playing with Bubbles? Oh DO TELL! 😆
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Well, in my weak and negligible defense, I didn’t explain the reference in my blurb as I had already mentioned both the actor AND the name of the movie in the actual text. And sometimes it’s fun to throw in little easter-egg trivia nuggets just to see if anyone notices them tucked into the narrative. And, okay, I might be a little bit of a mild sadist. I’ll bring it up at my next therapy session with Joanne Woodward. (See, I can’t help it!) 🙂
As for the story about Bubbles and the gas station, I’m having a little trouble getting that one off the ground due to a certain aspect of the story that is very sensitive at the moment and I need to get it just right. You’ll see when I finally feel comfortable enough with the words to bless it as a post…
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This line: “We all pretend to like things that we don’t as long as we get cast in the movie.” That’s true for politicians too, right? Whatever gets them elected?
*sigh*
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The line certainly applies to many politicians. Sadly, it also applies to other situations. Remember high school? We rarely spoke our minds, going along with what might be happening just so we could “fit in” and not get unwanted attention. We knew it was wrong, but it was easier, and in places like Oklahoma, it kept your ass from getting kicked in the parking lot.
And then there’s the workplace, where you have to put up with your co-workers’ nonsense to some degree because your livelihood could be on the line if you are perceived as a trouble-maker, rightly or wrongly.
We all play different levels of the game. We just have different reasons for doing so…
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Not all of us. Some of us learned that we were the ones who were wrong for being different. No guilt over doing things just to fit in, just regret that we couldn’t do them well enough.
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