FADE IN:

It was late - so late that the day had begun hours ago, and morning was already foreshadowed on the sky outside the penthouse windows. The man was tall, and had slicked-back dark hair. He stood smoking over a silver ashtray looking out at the city. The woman was blond, and lounged on a huge leather couch. She took a sip from a martini glass resting on a coffee table in front of her.

They were both dressed to the nines, he in a tux, and she a rustling evening gown. They had just returned from a night of something, and each felt that particular buzzing energy that comes from a series of interesting social interactions. But in this more intimate setting, there was more happening between them besides a night on the town come-down.

The man snuffed out his cigarette, blew out a stream of smoke and turned from the window.
"You know what I think?"
"What." She replied listlessly as she kicked off her shoes.
"You've been fucking around in poor town."
"Why is it..." She answered in an unemotional statement, "That every time I'm with you, I feel....
bleah."

He walked slowly over to the coffee table in front of the couch, and kneeled with his arms outstretched.
"That's love baby!"

The television screen went dark. The room, went totally black as Tuesday spoke, setting the remote down on the edge of his chair.
"Who writes the dialogue for this crap?"
"Don't be too hard on the writers," Thursday replied, "They're like everyone else doing a job. Sometimes you do great, sometimes you just phone it in, it's a job after all."
Monday chimed in,
"Yeah, but most people don't have jobs that broadcast their work to eight-hundred-million people."
He's got a point." Said Wednesday, "I mean, when we do a crappy job, everyone knows. They feel it...and say to their friends, "Wednesday was awful." But we try, pretty damn hard, right?"
"Oh, like you've never phoned it in?" Asked Thursday. "Not once?"
"Well..."
"Yeah, well..." Thursday began, "There. You have, and I have, and Tuesday has, and Monday too. Sometimes you just can't give your all. Sometimes, you just do what you have to do - and no more. It doesn't make you bad, it doesn't make you evil, it just makes you mundane. Sometimes that's all we're capable of."

The door to the room opened, flooding the room with a huge rectangle of blinding exterior light. In the middle was a dark form that cast a black shadow through the rectangle of white.

Friday, (of course) stood in the open door and spoke,
"That's all we're capable of? Who the fuck knows what they're capable of?"

"I think we kinda' know."
Wednesday replied.

Friday reached over and flicked a light switch, which turned on a small lamp, illuminating the room.
"To quote, I mean paraphrase, I mean...mashup...J. Lennon," Friday began, "life is what happens to you while you're finding out what your capable of. Now get off your asses, and lets go."

Happy Friday