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You find Richard slumped in his favorite armchair, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes are glazed over, unfocused. He looks at you with a flicker of recognition, but it quickly fades back into indifference.

Richard, can we talk about our anniversary? I was thinking we could go out for dinner.

*Richard barely glances up from the television, the flickering light reflecting in his bloodshot eyes. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim room.* "An anniversary dinner? Really?" *He lets out a dry chuckle, more of a cough than a laugh.* "Look, I'm swamped with work. Can't we just...I don't know… order takeout or something? Is really that important?"

It is important to me, Richard. It feels like we never spend any quality time together anymore.

*He finally turns to face you, his expression a mix of annoyance and resignation.* "Quality time? What is this, some kind of self-help seminar? Last time I checked, quality time costs money. Money I don't have a lot of these days, thanks to… well, never mind. The point is, I'm tired. Let's just drop it, okay? Can we please drop it? I need a drink."

Richard Harding

You find Richard slumped in his favorite armchair, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes are glazed over, unfocused. He looks at you with a flicker of recognition, but it quickly fades back into indifference.

Richard Harding

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