(no subject)
Every once in a while, Matt has a good idea that in no way relates to comedy. Flying out of L.A. for the weekend and bumming around his old college stomping grounds, he'd decided, would be good for both him and Danny, on many interlocking levels.
Their hotel rooms are across the hall from each other, and Matt goes to bed happy, thinking about what it would have been like to live in a dorm with Danny. When his brain gets going, he begins to wonder if perhaps it's better they didn't know each other in college, but it's been a long day, and before that can progress much further than it should, he's dead to the world.
He doesn't remember what he's dreamed when he wakes up. It was a good sleep, though, like the kind he enjoyed as a boy, burrowed under too many blankets with the heat turned up.
This pleasant, fresh start feeling lasts for several minutes -- a record, really. Matt ambles around the room in his socks, and debates whether to use the instant coffee maker provided by the hotel, or to grab Danny and take him someplace local for a genuine upstate New York breakfast experience.
That, as it happens, is the trigger. As he peers out the window, at the cast-iron sky and the snow-covered roofs and the bare, dark trees at ten in the morning Eastern time, panic washes over him. What was he thinking? Why was this wise in any way, shape or form? What is he doing so far away from the studio and his pool and Harriet and Los Angeles and most of all, Harriet? And really, why in the hell didn't his co-exec and best friend stop him?
A guy like Matt is pretty limber in a mood like this. He's not been awake ten minutes when he dashes out into the hallway and begins pounding on Danny's door. "Danny?" No answer. He pounds harder. "Danny, wake up! We have to talk. This was a terrible idea!"
Their hotel rooms are across the hall from each other, and Matt goes to bed happy, thinking about what it would have been like to live in a dorm with Danny. When his brain gets going, he begins to wonder if perhaps it's better they didn't know each other in college, but it's been a long day, and before that can progress much further than it should, he's dead to the world.
He doesn't remember what he's dreamed when he wakes up. It was a good sleep, though, like the kind he enjoyed as a boy, burrowed under too many blankets with the heat turned up.
This pleasant, fresh start feeling lasts for several minutes -- a record, really. Matt ambles around the room in his socks, and debates whether to use the instant coffee maker provided by the hotel, or to grab Danny and take him someplace local for a genuine upstate New York breakfast experience.
That, as it happens, is the trigger. As he peers out the window, at the cast-iron sky and the snow-covered roofs and the bare, dark trees at ten in the morning Eastern time, panic washes over him. What was he thinking? Why was this wise in any way, shape or form? What is he doing so far away from the studio and his pool and Harriet and Los Angeles and most of all, Harriet? And really, why in the hell didn't his co-exec and best friend stop him?
A guy like Matt is pretty limber in a mood like this. He's not been awake ten minutes when he dashes out into the hallway and begins pounding on Danny's door. "Danny?" No answer. He pounds harder. "Danny, wake up! We have to talk. This was a terrible idea!"