18
Yeah, well fuck you too,
you bleeding heart city worker
How the fuck did I grow up
to become you?
(beat, turning towards 38)
Or you.
Fuck you.
(approaches 38)
You don’t even fucking try.
You haven’t seen Kronos’ headstone in almost a decade
Where the fuck have you been,
selling out your fucking soul
to the Ivory Tower?

28
(joins in)
Guess what:
when we’re older, we become this
burned out, brittle shell of a woman
writing alone in the corner of a library,
gladhanding and
sucking the academy’s cock for tenure
with the goddamn presumption that—