writers_muses #33.1.A
"It's not about you. It's about something much bigger. But then I guess seeing past your own nose always was rather difficult."
"Was that a crack about the size of my nose?" Munch asked thoroughly surprised. After repeated voicemail messages and failed attempts to talk to her at crime scenes, Munch had finally gotten his wife on the phone. It had been such a terse and awkward conversation that the notion that she had just made a joke gave him a moment of hope. That is until she gave an exasperated sigh, said "Goodbye John," and hung up the phone.
"No luck?" asked Fin as he placed a beer in Munch's hand and took a seat next to him at the bar.
"She answered the phone," he said shrugging his shoulders, tipping back the bottle, and taking a long swig.
"That's not going to get you off my couch and by the way I didn't bring you here so you could drown yourself right along with your sorrows. I don't want a repeat of last week,"
"This is a bar," Munch said making a sweeping motion with his free hand. "Its inherent purpose is to provide people with a place to forget about the outside world with the aid of watered down, over-priced, refreshment."
Munch knew he should at least attempt to sound grateful, after all Fin had bailed him out with that cab driver and now he was letting him sleep on his couch, no questions asked but manners were the furthest thing from his mind and the two were starting to grate on each others nerves. If he didn't find a way to fix thing soon he'd be out a friend and a wife.
"I'll be back," he said to Fin as slid off the bar stool and teetered on unsteady feet for a moment before grabbing his cell phone off the counter. With eyes firmly focused on every step, Munch crossed the bar and into the brisk night air. Once more he flipped open his phone and dialed his home. He held his breathe as he waited for her to answer, only letting himself breathe again when he heard his own voice on the end of the line.
"It's me again. Look, you don't have to pick up, just know I'm willing to do anything to make this work."
John Munch
Law and Order: SVU
391
"Was that a crack about the size of my nose?" Munch asked thoroughly surprised. After repeated voicemail messages and failed attempts to talk to her at crime scenes, Munch had finally gotten his wife on the phone. It had been such a terse and awkward conversation that the notion that she had just made a joke gave him a moment of hope. That is until she gave an exasperated sigh, said "Goodbye John," and hung up the phone.
"No luck?" asked Fin as he placed a beer in Munch's hand and took a seat next to him at the bar.
"She answered the phone," he said shrugging his shoulders, tipping back the bottle, and taking a long swig.
"That's not going to get you off my couch and by the way I didn't bring you here so you could drown yourself right along with your sorrows. I don't want a repeat of last week,"
"This is a bar," Munch said making a sweeping motion with his free hand. "Its inherent purpose is to provide people with a place to forget about the outside world with the aid of watered down, over-priced, refreshment."
Munch knew he should at least attempt to sound grateful, after all Fin had bailed him out with that cab driver and now he was letting him sleep on his couch, no questions asked but manners were the furthest thing from his mind and the two were starting to grate on each others nerves. If he didn't find a way to fix thing soon he'd be out a friend and a wife.
"I'll be back," he said to Fin as slid off the bar stool and teetered on unsteady feet for a moment before grabbing his cell phone off the counter. With eyes firmly focused on every step, Munch crossed the bar and into the brisk night air. Once more he flipped open his phone and dialed his home. He held his breathe as he waited for her to answer, only letting himself breathe again when he heard his own voice on the end of the line.
"It's me again. Look, you don't have to pick up, just know I'm willing to do anything to make this work."
John Munch
Law and Order: SVU
391