Pamela: Come on, can’t we just share a laugh? Why do you gotta take it to the level all the time? Look at your face.

Louie: Look, we both know…

Pamela: Don’t, don’t. Please.

Louie: I have these feelings.

Pamela: I don’t want to see your bummed out face at the end of this road, just please stop the car Louie.

Louie: Why?

Pamela:Because I value your friendship, and you’re about to end it.

Louie: Why are you saying that?

Pamela: Because, you keep pressing me, man. And I can’t go that way. You’re going to get so bummed out and you’re going to want to stop hanging out with me.

Louie: You’re worried I’m not going to want to hang out with you?

Pamela: Dude.

Louie: I know you don’t feel the same way about me—I know that, I’m not stupid. It’s fine. I’m actually fine with the way things are, that I’m in a constant state of agitation. It’s actually better than any real requited love/sex thing I ever had.

Pamela: Okay, now you’re depressing me.

Louie: No, I’m saying I want to be your friend and it’s okay with me that there’s nothing else, but can I just, can I just tell you one time the way I feel about you?

Pamela: You wanna tell me?

Louie: Yes, and I’ll be your friend. I won’t press you to be anything else if you let me get it out one time.

Pamela: Tell me.

Louie: Yes. Please.

Pamela: Go ahead…

Louie: Pamela. I’m in love with you. Yeah, it’s that bad. You’re so beautiful to me…

Pamela: Oy, ew!

Louie: Shut up. Let me tell you. Let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it, it wrecks me. And the way you are with me, and you’re just fun and you shit all over me and you make fun of me and you’re real. I don’t have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel like I’m going to live a thousand years cause that’s how long it’s going to take me to have one thought, about you, which is: I’m crazy about you, Pamela. I don’t want to be with anybody else.

Pamela: Louie…

Louie: I don’t! I really don’t. I don’t think about “women” anymore, I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train. We were on this train and you were holding my hand. That’s the whole dream—you were holding my hand. And I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t real. I’m sick in love with you Pamela. It’s like a condition. It’s like polio. I feel like I’m going to die if I can’t be with you; and I can’t be with you, so I’m going to die. And I don’t care. Cause I was brought into existence to know you, and that’s enough. The idea that you would want me back? It’s like, greedy.