A narrow apartment in a dormitory-like, communal apartment building. Two beds. Everything is covered with portfolios, art supplies, or clothing. On a little bedside table there is a huge jar full of cigarette butts with a trail of smoke rising from it. On the floor is an electric teakettle.
Vika sits on the bed. Brusha pours water from the teakettle into the jar of cigarette butts.
Vika—Is your roommate a complete ass?
Brusha—If he was he wouldn't have given you his bed to use.
Vika—I can't sleep there.
Brusha—Sleep on mine, then.
Vika—Is there a difference?
Brusha—Well, in general, yes.
Vika—Hmm. Couldn't you rent your own place?
Brusha—I could. It's just pricey.
Vika—But you have your mom.
Brusha—I don't take her money.
Vika—Where's the bathroom?
Brusha—End of the hall.
Vika—What a nightmare. Do you have rats?
Brusha—We've got it all. Whatever you want.
Brusha—I can't speak to that.
Vika—Does the door lock at least?
Brusha—Yes. Do you want me to show you?
Vika—I'll figure it out. I'm not a cripple.
Vika leaves the room. From Vika's coat, a mobile phone can be hearing ringing. It rings—then stops. It starts again.
Brusha sticks his head into the hall, then closes the door—the ringing doesn't stop.
Brusha answers it.
Brusha—Nura, is that you? Yes, Brusha. Everything’s ok. We're doing our drafting homework. No, she went to the bathroom—don't worry. No need to thank me. Good night.
Vika comes into the room and throws herself onto the bed.
Vika—Seriously, what a pigsty. How can you live like this?
Brusha—You can wash your hands here—we even have a sink in the room. (he points to a small sink in the corner)
Brusha—And my invention—hot water flowing from the teakettle.
Vika—And how does hot water flow from the teakettle?
Brusha—Well there's still a little work to, so you have to go to the bathroom for the cold water—but once I find a big bucket or something—the process will be complete.
Vika—Where do you do your design projects?
Brusha—You're sitting on my workspace.
Vika—What, on the bed?
Brusha—Sometimes on the floor.
Vika—How can you draft on the floor?
Vika—For you everything’s easy. I have a gray scale drawing due in the morning.
Brusha—I'll do it for you.
Vika—It's a pain in the ass—all those shades and scales and angles.
Brusha—No worries. Lay down. I'll wash up and then do it for you quick.
Vika—I need a dad too.
Brusha—What are you talking about?
Vika—Remember when Luara said all that—that she doubts I could find a place on my own. Some job she did of raising my dad. She can't stand to be under the same roof as him. What a parent—top class. God, we're lucky to have him right? Let him rot in the dark—maybe he'll have an idea appear. He'll sleep with anything that moves.
Brusha—Did he think I was a girl?
Vika—Nope. He's a diplodocus.
Vika—Clearly, you've never lived with them.
Vika—With Diplodocuses. They don't differentiate between the sexes. For them—if the hair is long, if the skin's made up—it means it’s a girl. If the voice…if it’s a little too masculine—well, she must smoke a lot, sweet thing—she'll get a cough and her boobs won't grow and oh, look there, between her legs—there's a little bump growing, hmmm? For them, the most important thing is a heartbeat. I wanna vomit.
Brusha wipes his face and puts his hair in a ponytail.
Vika—You're make-up is totally cool, but without you look like a pretty normal guy.
Brusha—You wanted to come. At night the curtain comes down and show's over.
Vika—Too bad, I thought it would be the opposite.
Brusha—Lie down, sleep.
Vika—Well the next step is for you to lie down with me.
Brusha—I have other steps in mind.
Vika—What? Are you really gay?
Vika—What's the deal then?
Vika—What, you don't like me?
Brusha—I like you.
Vika—You can't get it up?
Brusha—Listen, everything works.
Vika—Something's not right.
Brusha—What are the specific angles? (He lays a sheet of drafting paper on the portfolio case)
Vika—If you're not gay, and you can get it up, what’s the problem?
Brusha—I don't have a problem, it's you with the problem.
Vika—What does that mean?
Brusha—Sleep, come on.
Vika—You yourself said that you go with the flow.
Brusha—I didn't say that.
Vika—What are talking about? All that “I row in my rowboat” talk.
Brusha—I said, “When I row to the next shore, nobody is waiting”
Vika—Do you even sleep with girls?
Brusha—Is it supposed to be a cube inside a sphere with a shadow, or the opposite?
Vika—A sphere inside the cube with a shadow.
Brusha takes a triangle, a ruler, and a protractor and sits on the floor.
Vika—All this smoke, I can hardly breathe.
Brusha—Open the window.
Vika—I'm already lying down. Where's your sense of logic? If I'm asleep, how can I open the window?
Brusha stands up and opens the window. The room is flooded with sounds from the street: Shouting, yelling, fireworks, loud music, whistling, crying.
Vika—Sounds like a party out there.
Brush—You wanna join 'em?
Vika—What? Go party out there? Alone with them?
Brusha—I don't hang out with them.
Vika—Who do you hang out with then?
Vika—You don't fuck, you don't party, you dress like a Goth, but you're not a Goth—what do you do?
Brusha—I'm drawing a grey scale for you. Actually, it’s done.
Vika—What? Do you think I'm an idiot too?
Brusha—Who thinks you're an idiot?
Vika—What times is it?
Vika—Good, you still have time to sleep on your own bed. (She gets up)
Brusha—Where are you going?
Vika—I'm gonna row to my family's shore—the Metro's open now.
Brusha—She's not worried—I talked to her.
Brusha—(he points to her mobile lying on the bedside table) She called and I told her that we were studying and that everything's cool.
Vika—You said what?!
Brusha—You were in the bathroom, the phone was ringing and I thought…
Vika—What did you think?
Brusha—That it was her. I looked and it said Nura.
Vika—Are you serious or just shitting me?
Brusha—What are you talking about?
Vika—You seriously talked to her?
Brusha—Yeah, that's what I said, what not to understand?
Vika—I understand everything—stop talking to me like that!!
Brusha—She was going crazy.
Vika—I thought that you were my friend. But you're theirs and theirs and theirs…
Brusha—What is that?
Vika—You want everyone to like you or something?
Vika—What a fucking joke, and I was thinking this whole time that you…
Vika—That you were for real.
Vika—Knife right in the back—chivalry is dead, eh? I just don't get one thing, why do you dress like that?
Vika—You know, that outfit doesn't suit you, you know? What you need to do is put some paper wings on your back and a paper halo with some fucking paper clouds over your head and fly around healing everybody.
Brusha—Listen, you can't heal everyone.
Vika—Well I don't need any healing.
Vika—Fuck you. Listen…whatever. I'm leaving and you can sit here in your own private shit hole.
Vika jumps up and grabs her phone.
Brusha—Here. Your portfolio case and the grey scale.
Vika—What? Did you think I'd leave them here? Dumb ass. Give 'em to me.
Vika—Yeah, you too.
Vika leaves, slamming the door.
Brusha—Take your coat.
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