Larry enters.
Larry: (Horrified.) Oh, Miss Clare, what have you done?
Clare: (Staring at the wall.) I thought about the pistol in the top drawer, and I thought about shooting myself in the head. I thought about the butcher’s knife in the sink, and I thought about driving it through my chest. (Slowly rolls her eyes to look at Larry.) But you know, for all I’ve done, I think it’d be a damn shame to go out like that. You know, like a light. So quickly… I think it’s only fair that I suffer. Lord knows Francine suffered enough, you should’ve heard her scream. I found the bluntest knife I could, Larry. Drove it into my side, pulled it out, drove it in again. Prop me up against the bathtub, would ya? (As Larry drags her towards the bathtub.) I’m bleeding all over the shop, mind, and that’s a mighty fine suit you’ve got on there. Would you mind turning on the water? Don’t bother with this lukewarm nonsense now, hot or cold will do just fine. I’m a-dying, Larry, and the dead don’t feel nothin’. Now fetch me the radio from the front room, I think I fancy a tune.
Larry stumbles out of the bathroom, quickly returning with the radio.
Clare: Plug it in, will you?
Larry fumbles with the plug, his hands are shaking, he notices the empty pill bottles in the sink.
Larry: Did you take these? Miss Clare, did you take all of these? Holy crap, Miss Clare.
Clare: (Ignoring him.) Pick a station, Larry, any station. I’m feeling lucky.
