Two men, Alan and Jack, sit on a park bench that sits in the middle of the mighty Mojave Desert. Their clothes are tattered; their hair, overgrown; their lips, chapped and bloody.
“Penny for your thoughts, Alan,” says Jack.
Alan looks up from the ground slowly, and glares at Jack for several seconds.
“Well, Jack,” says Alan. “I guess I was justing thinking about how much effing time I waste answering your inane, pointless questions, you insignificant… worthless piece of human filth.”
There is a pause. Alan picks up a canteen that sits by their feet, turns it over, shakes it, then throws it.
“So?” says Alan.
“What”? says Jack.
“So where’s my penny, dick?” says Alan.
Jack uncomfortably laughs softly and shrugs his shoulders.
“I… heh… I was just… heh,” offers Jack.
“Pff, just, Jack, just… shut the hell up. All right? …dick,” says Alan. He kicks a rock.
Nights falls, a lonely coyote howls, and the mighty Mojave begins another restless night.