ROS puts a hand into his purse, then both hands behind his back, then holds his fists out. GUIL taps one fist. ROS opens it to show a coin. He gives it to GUIL. He puts his hand back into his purse. Then both hands behind his back, then holds his fists out. GUIL taps one. ROS opens it to show a coin. He gives it to GUIL Repeat. Repeat. GUIL getting tense. Desperate to lose. Repeat. GUIL taps a hand, changes his mind, taps the other, and ROS inadvertently reveals that he has a coin in both fists.
 GUIL: You had money in both hands.
 ROS (embarrassed): Yes.
 GUIL: Every time?
 ROS: Yes.
 GUIL: What's the point of that?
ROS (pathetic): I wanted to make you happy.

ROS: Rhetoric! Game and match! (Pause.) Where's it going to end?
 GUIL: That's the question.
 ROS: It's all questions.
 GUIL: Do you think it matters?
 ROS: Doesn't it matter to you?
 GUIL: Why should it matter?
 ROS: What does it matter why?
 GUIL (teasing gently): Doesn't it matter why it matters?
 ROS (rounding on him): What's the matter with you?

دلم هوای تازه میخواد. رهایی رهایی رهایی. دویدن بی دغدغه. خنکی، باد، طبیعت، نور، آسمون، ابر ...

یک مدت که بهت فشار بیاد، یک هو هوس میکنی بکنی، از همه چیز حتی جاذبه زمین. پر بکشی بری با باد.

خیلی به این فکر کردم و می‌کنم که در این دوران باید خاطره نویسی کرد، ولی خوب، کو وقت. زندگی، شیرین و گاهی ترسناک، می‌آید و می‌گذرد. مثل گذر باد پاییزی و نقش به جا ماندۀ برگ‌های رنگ رنگ. خطی بنویسم یا نه، خاطرات ماندنی‌اند. همان بهتر که بگذارم خودشان همان رنگی که دوست دارند، باقی بمانند. مثل همان شال آبی که آبی نبود ولی آبی ماند.