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The Quest Continues
May. 22nd, 2002 01:55 am/ROMIE and her 14-year-old cousin MAX are standing in front of an urban ARMY NAVY STORE. Slim and rumpled, dressed in beat-up clothes several sizes two big for them, they project an unnerving elfin-ness. With studied irascibility and well-practiced slouches, they are the epitome of disaffected cool. While they stare to the place where the horizon would be if it weren't for the SKYSCRAPERS, MAX pulls a soft pack of GUM from his pocket. When ROMIE takes a stick, it turns for a moment into a lit CIGARETTE, but it flickers back before she puts it in her mouth./
ROMIE: Goddamnit. This place was my last best hope for pants.
MAX: I can't believe that lady thought I was trying to steal that gas mask.
ROMIE: I mean, it's the Army Navy Store. I thought they were required to have pants to fit anyone.
MAX: To begin with, I wouldn't have made a big deal about it to attract everyone's attention to the fact that I liked it.
/ROMIE and MAX begin to walk toward a RED CIVIC HATCHBACK, parked dead center in a small but empty PARKING LOT. On their way, they have to jump over several INERT WARHEADS./
ROMIE: This really shouldn't be impossible. I know that in the past I have owned pants.
MAX: Also, it was already broken when I got there.
ROMIE: I have photographic evidence.
MAX: Actually, Rome, I've only ever seen you in jeans or those green pants that fell apart.
ROMIE: Or the gray ones that don't fit right anymore.
MAX: Otherwise, it's one of a million crazy skirts.
ROMIE: Damnit.
MAX: Can we jump the fence and steal a whole bunch of gas masks, just to show her?
ROMIE: It's an Army Navy Store.
MAX: Point.
/They climb into the CAR, shifting from first to second before they travel more than eight feet. As they rapidly vanish between the tall buildings, we hear a blaring guitar riff that is unmistakably the PIXIES./
ROMIE: Goddamnit. This place was my last best hope for pants.
MAX: I can't believe that lady thought I was trying to steal that gas mask.
ROMIE: I mean, it's the Army Navy Store. I thought they were required to have pants to fit anyone.
MAX: To begin with, I wouldn't have made a big deal about it to attract everyone's attention to the fact that I liked it.
/ROMIE and MAX begin to walk toward a RED CIVIC HATCHBACK, parked dead center in a small but empty PARKING LOT. On their way, they have to jump over several INERT WARHEADS./
ROMIE: This really shouldn't be impossible. I know that in the past I have owned pants.
MAX: Also, it was already broken when I got there.
ROMIE: I have photographic evidence.
MAX: Actually, Rome, I've only ever seen you in jeans or those green pants that fell apart.
ROMIE: Or the gray ones that don't fit right anymore.
MAX: Otherwise, it's one of a million crazy skirts.
ROMIE: Damnit.
MAX: Can we jump the fence and steal a whole bunch of gas masks, just to show her?
ROMIE: It's an Army Navy Store.
MAX: Point.
/They climb into the CAR, shifting from first to second before they travel more than eight feet. As they rapidly vanish between the tall buildings, we hear a blaring guitar riff that is unmistakably the PIXIES./
