Who watches the car wreck as the two idiots beam at each other in golden light, then comes a rom-com scene. Violins. A loop. Hannah puts her hand on Peter’s arm, and he lays his head on the curve of her neck, and then their hands interlock and the violins become a full-on symphony and Don stares at this car wreck and freezes, without thinking, and then she leaves, closing the door quietly.

And squats in the mud in front of the building, wraps her arms around her knees and wants to die. It’s her first ever bout of lovesickness. And it’s not raining, and there’s no picturesque landscape in the picture.

Don knows the type of landscape from old movies with actors who are already dead. Green riverbanks where townspeople stroll with picnic baskets. Green riverbanks. They don’t exist anywhere except on TV, there are only landscapes and buildings that seem to be transitioning to dust or water. Every inch of land seems to have been used and discarded. Don stands up and looks inside through the window. Perhaps a miracle has occurred. Perhaps Hannah has realized she can’t stand Peter, perhaps—Don stands on her tiptoes and looks in. Still the same golden light, now lighting up the mattress, where Peter and Hannah are lying, entwined, motionless. Probably dead.

Go fuck yourselves, fuck all of you.

And Don

Starts to cry. Though without tears. It’s the first time. In case we haven’t already discussed it, this everything-for-the-first-time period in life. The first time being so excited about someone that you could spend an entire day just looking at the person, the first time you want to die because of unhappiness. The first time in a strange city, being amazed by everything, the buildings, the smells. The first time swimming naked, with other people, at an outdoor pool, at night. The first time cooking in your own kitchen, the first time having sex and the first time staying out all night. Doing all of this for the first time seems to take forever. The first time living. Forever, and later, only later does one begin to repeat everything, and cease to be attentive, and the wonder of it all fades, and people get dull, and time races. That’s it, the thing said by old people: “The time, where did all the time go?” This is the time, you just don’t see it anymore. You tire of your perceptions, you take everything for granted. Your healthy bodies, your love, children, food, rain. Everything’s taken care of for you, eh?