_In a courtroom at dawn or dusk; a delicate time._ ME: These are all so old. These trees. HIM: Random insults are no authority. ME: What are you holding back? HIM: All my mistakes. ME: Why are you doing that? HIM: Because I am afraid of losing you again. ME: There is cause for me to understand that. However. _Again there is a long pause. The pause is beautiful. The pause is the product of memory, some say. Not everyone will survive the pause, but you can bet our guests will. This ache! I cannot . . . ._ Do you remember the feeling of freedom? HIM: What use the feeling if I cannot have the real thing? ME: The feeling is, appropriately, the real thing. HIM: I am sinister with doubts. ME: Slow down, take your time. HIM: Linguistic cuteness aside, I am . . . afraid. _I am too. Stale farts fill the courtroom._