(no subject)
(In some corner of some room in the Mansion, ARTHUR has found a comfortably worn recliner. It's large, large enough for two, and just beside a window that's been opened a few centimeters. He's looking out, looking up, into the night sky. The constellations are unrecognisable or vague, but they're stars and that's enough.)
Stars. You can't see the stars in New York. That's one of the things I like about Gregory's. It reminds me of summers when I was young. I'm sorry I'm not young anymore.
(After a moment, he leans to pick up a fleece blanket from the floor beside his chair. He unfolds it, and then wraps it around himself. He stops to sip from a glass of cranberry juice, before going back to reading The Wall Street Journal. He looks very cozy.)
Stars. You can't see the stars in New York. That's one of the things I like about Gregory's. It reminds me of summers when I was young. I'm sorry I'm not young anymore.
(After a moment, he leans to pick up a fleece blanket from the floor beside his chair. He unfolds it, and then wraps it around himself. He stops to sip from a glass of cranberry juice, before going back to reading The Wall Street Journal. He looks very cozy.)