Show: In Treatment - 4x18
This is very disturbing to me.
I don't get what your play is here.
You had to know she wasn't coming today.
Honesty seems like an unattainable, lofty goal to you.
I told you things that were true!
You went to jail for doing exactly what you are doing here.
Yes, I omitted salient details, perhaps to make myself look better.
Oh, am I the first person on Earth to do that?
No.
I told myself that I had reached a point in my career that I did not have to treat narcissists.
The only thing I have I...
is my ability to convince people of things.
The lie is all I have.
You want me to tell the truth and have nothing?
Well, no thanks.
That's all the time I have.
That's all the time we have.
Adam?
Adam?
Shit, shit, shit.
Oh, fuck.
Anybody home?
What are you doing here?
Oh man, you are one sick fuck.
I got a call from my probation officer.
She told me.
You didn't sign off!
That's right.
Oh, you asshole!
I'm an asshole?
You're an asshole.
What...
You can't say that.
You showed up at my house like the fucking Night Stalker.
I can say whatever I want.
Look, four sessions!
That was the deal, and I did it.
I told her that I needed more time.
We were making progress.
I don't need to justify myself to you.
Get the hell off my doorstep.
What?
Why?
Why?
You-you can't own what you've done?
Can't defend yourself?
You opened up to me at the end of our last session.
You were honest.
I can't, in good conscience, say that you were good to go when you've only just begun to trust me with the truth.
What is going on?
Nothing.
Doesn't look like nothing.
It looks like you have an icicle up your ass.
Loo-look, I really can't wait to get the hell outta here, but just...
Let me use your bathroom real quick.
You're not coming in my house.
Oh, you think I want to?
I mean, I do.
I want to.
I'm...
I'm asking.
I'm begging.
No.
I was out with these tech kids.
I had five beers.
The car over here was a half hour.
Please, this is getting actually really bad.
Not my problem.
I'm not entirely convinced I don't have to shit also.
Oh god.
Listen, Brooke, uh, I'm about to seek relief in the middle of your yard in about 10 seconds.
I really...
I really need your help here.
Please?
Quick.
Thank you.
Woo!
Ah, holy shit.
That was close.
Thank you.
Out.
You're, uh, you're a little loose.
I like it.
So, what are you up to?
I was attempting to relax.
You know, I do think it's fucked up that you didn't sign off.
In session, Colin.
But you did it...
because you thought I really got somewhere?
Huh.
Makes me wish I hadn't yelled all that stuff at you.
You did call me an asshole though.
You are an asshole.
Well, sure, a little bit.
There are people born with no legs, Brooke.
Wouldn't point that out to them like it's breaking news.
Why are you still in my living room?
I'm regretting coming here.
It was dumb.
I can see that.
I'll just order a car.
Ugh!
Man, my guy's not gonna be here for 10 minutes.
Hey, do you mind...
mind if I wait in here?
Santa Anas are blowing like crazy.
Five minutes.
Sure.
You gonna offer me a drink?
What?
No.
You mind if I help myself then?
Wh...
Colin, this...
Come on, it'll be good!
I'm-I'm even more charming when I'm drunk.
You-you're gonna love it.
Where do you hide your...
Oh!
Never mind.
Found 'em.
Plus, you know, I-I'll have a drink, and maybe, I will finally lose some of my inhibitions.
I did not ask for a drink.
Oh, my dear, you did not have to.
Come on, cheers.
Oh.
Hey.
Adam.
I saw-saw you were outta some stuff, and I was at the store anyways.
Tried to call.
Who's this?
Sorry!
Adam, Colin.
Colin, Adam.
Colin is my patient.
He just...
stopped by.
For a drink.
Mm.
Yeah, can I get you anything?
I'm good.
I'll just...
This is not a session.
Yeah, I'm gettin' that.
What the fuck, Brooke?
He's going through...
It's a long story, but he's about to go.
You had a couple already, huh?
It'll be fine.
He's just waiting for a car.
Hm...
He seems nice.
Stop it.
Alright.
What, uh, what are we talkin' about here?
Eh, sort of...
hard for you to follow without our history.
Yeah?
Try me.
Adam.
Come on.
I'll be right there.
Nice to meet you, Adam!
You are a shit-stirrer.
You...
like, stir shit.
How dare you.
So, uh, before we were interrupted...
This is not a therapy session.
I am not getting paid.
You don't get paid for any of our sessions.
Okay, okay, fine.
But just to clarify, that's why you didn't sign off.
'Cause you thought I was finally being honest.
Huh.
Is that when I said I was nothing?
It was illuminating, your choice of words.
For the record, the fact that you hadn't been honest up until that point was also illuminating.
And very troubling.
Noted.
And, also, I would like to state for the record that I regret calling you a narcissist.
It was rash.
And I believe incorrect.
Narcissists can't see themselves.
You can.
Whoa, whoa...
I'll drink to that.
I do...
see myself.
Hm.
What is it I'm lookin' at?
Hm...
Make yourself comfortable.
The-the other day, when you were asking about plans, the future, in that moment, I-I got so antsy.
Like all the air was going out of the room, you know?
You ever have that?
No.
Anyway, that's how I felt, and...
thinking about it, I don't know what I want.
Which is strange.
You are a special person, Colin, and I would never want you to feel like you are not the most special flower in the world.
Fuck off.
But no one knows what they want.
Well, that's comforting, I guess.
Most people out in the world don't even think to ask the question until it's too late, if they ask it at all.
We have trouble listening to ourselves.
It's like the conversation we had about music.
We don't listen to the voice that says, "That sucks.
Turn that off. "
Break up with this person. "
Move out of this city.
Quit your stupid fucking job."
Hm.
We don't listen.
Until we do.
You-you should always drink before therapy.
This is not therapy.
We ask kids too early "What do you wanna be?
Declare your major."
You can't know what you want if you don't know who you are, and you don't know who you are until...
I mean, I didn't know who the hell I was when I was 18.
Oh yes, yes, yes.
You know, my parents, they started their own thing from the ground up.
That's what I was gonna do.
So, I tried all this crazy shit.
You know, a...
a coffee house, a microbrewery, a record label.
I never cared enough.
You know, I think...
I think I was looking at it wrong.
My parents weren't building a massive health food empire.
They were making granola.
They liked granola.
They started making it, and then it snowballed.
See, I never stopped to figure out what it was I liked.
It's hard if you're spending all your time trying to be something you aren't.
You never took the time to figure out who you are.
God, this is depressing, just so you know.
The guy pushing 60 who discovers himself is not a good look.
I've met that guy.
I fuckin' hated him.
Well, them's the breaks, kid.
Where the fuck is your driver?
Oh, right.
This fucking app.
Looks like he's doing donuts in a Target parking lot.
What, now it says 13 minutes?!
Fuck this clown.
I'm canceling.
I will order another one.
Oh!
Look at that.
Seven minutes.
Man, these names.
Anyway.
I lost my train of thought.
What were we talking about?
Uh, finding yourself at 60.
Mm!
Fuckin' yeah.
It reminded me.
I knew this guy, his name was Grover.
Uh, this was, uh, late '80s, early '90s.
And he was living in his van, sort of a converted thing.
You know, a-a bed, a propane stove.
Camper situation.
Mm-hmm.
I met him, and I'd just sold my brewery, on which I broke even very proud to report, and I'm trying to figure out what's next.
I meet this guy, and he just follows his gut.
You know, he wants to surf?
He heads to the beach.
He wants to see the fuckin' Grand Tetons?
Off he goes.
And I'm sitting there like, "Wow. "
This guy's really got it figured out.
This is how you live."
Anyway, this guy pays for his way of life by...
selling some illicit substances, which is how I made his acquaintance in the first place.
Long story short, I-I'm just basically sold on this.
Because nothing says happiness like an itinerant drug dealer living in a van?
Right?
So, I'm gonna buy a van.
I'm gonna convert it and see the country.
Plus, I have the added benefit of being barf-shit-scream independently wealthy, so I don't have to bother with acquiring and distributing illegal drugs.
Win-win.
So, I gobble up a handful of this gentleman's product.
And, oh-ho, he trafficked in only the most soul-shatteringly potent of substances...
I get it.
Yeah.
So I sit there on the beach.
Mm.
You know, and I'm sort of glued in place, fully losing my mind, and I go on this whole journey, thinking about the van and livin' on the road.
And then I start to think about, like, flat tires and washing my own pots, and just how fuckin' lonely I would be, and so I think, "Well, maybe a van isn't it. "
Maybe it's more of a motor home.
Little more space and so on."
And then, I think about emptying the septic.
And I think about the other kinds of people who drive motor homes, and with whom I would inevitably be spending much of my time.
RV people?
Yeah.
I don't wanna hang out with those people.
I mean, not that there's anything wrong.
I'm sure they're very lovely people, but I just...
I wanna be with people who are engaged.
You know?
In the mix, who are changing the world.
And so, I think, "No, not a motor home.
An actual home. "
In a city.
Beautiful loft apartment some place."
And then...
No, that's not right either.
All the trash piling up on the sidewalk in summer, the vermin, the unfathomable misery of homeless people sleeping on the streets, while I hover above, sending waste down from this magnificent imaginary apartment.
So a country house.
But that's too remote.
I mean, who's gonna fix your fuckin' whatever when it breaks?
So...
I think a place just outside the city, you know?
So I can get in, be in the mix, and then get away whenever I need to.
So I'm laying there on the beach, I'm tripping my balls off on this epic fuckin' mind-walk, and what I had just realized is that I wanted to live...
in the suburbs.
And then my mind just starts racing.
Well, that's what this country, this life, does to people.
You reach a point where all your dreams get reduced to wanting something that just isn't so fucking hard.
And I think about all the endless, sprawling neighborhoods off of every interstate.
All with the same restaurants, the same hardware stores, the same everything else, and then I-I really start to freak out because I think, "Wow.
Is this my future?"
You know, is this, this what I want?
Is this middle age coming for me?
I wanted to be a radical!
You know, man, I wanted to be a revolutionary.
You-you've seen these people.
In their khakis and bloated, off-brand sneakers, and you think, "Oh, my god, is...
How does this happen to a person?"
Well...
this is the answer.
It just creeps in.
So it's like you said.
You know, most people, they don't even ask the question until it's too late.
Well, this was me, as a young man, asking the question.
I was asking what it was I wanted.
I did not have an answer yet but, boy, I knew what I didn't want.
I didn't want an ordinary life.
I wanted it to be big!
I wanted it to-to-to surprise me.
I wanted to take a leap, to really try something.
And if I don't make it, if I fall and crash, get my head split open on the rocks below, so be it, you know.
Risk.
That's what would guide me.
Risk.
So here I am.
Head splattered, half drunk...
in my therapist's house.
I don't know what my point was.
Say no to drugs?
Hah.
Buy some khakis?
I-I don't know.
I don't know.
You know what the problem is?
This isn't Brooke the therapist talking.
This is Brooke the human being, who's had a couple of drinks and is feeling herself a little bit.
This shit is bigger than you.
You are a white straight cis man.
The world was built by you, and for you, to capture, to achieve, to acquire, to plant your goddamn flag.
No obstacles, nothing to overcome, except your own laziness and self-doubt.
And, by the way, give me a fucking break.
And if you don't become a great man, well, why the hell not?
It's all there for the taking.
If you don't become great, it's because you're a piece of shit, or a coward, or a fool.
And then the rest of the world pays the price when you don't feel adequate because you don't have a motherfuckin' clue about what you're feeling or why you are feeling it.
Some people...
Lots of people, those people you were just talking about, they just want to have a house in a decent neighborhood, send their kids to a safe school.
I just wanted to do something that I loved to do, and fuckin' white guys, you need to shatter the model of success in order for you to feel like you've done anything at all.
Well, guess what?
That shit's impossible without taking shortcuts, gaming the system, stepping on other folks, without a shitload of collateral damage.
Do your trips to the doctor move the stock market?
Do your dinner parties determine the next leader of the free world?
Because this is all some patriarchal, dick-measuring horseshit.
All this talk about renaming buildings and whatnot because so-and-so was a monster?
I say, take 'em all down.
If your name is on the side of a building, chances are you did some horrendous shit to get it there.
Philanthropy is just a way to wash the blood off your billions.
Anyway...
Say no to drugs.
You okay?
I'm sorry.
I-I don't know what...
God...
I don't know what's happening to me.
Jesus Christ.
I'm sorry.
I...
I know this isn't even a session, but...
Huh.
There's my ride.
Fuck.
Look, thank you for...
for hearing me out.
For giving me a chance, or a second chance.
Third chance.
I'm not sure.
Heh.
I'm really sorry I...
showed up at your door tonight and...
shouted all those insults at you.
Well, we have time to work on that, too.
See you next week.
I'm okay to enter now?
What was that?
He is...
I don't know.
He's having a tough time.
It didn't feel right to turn him away.
Oh, he's drunk.
Emotional.
I wasn't asking why he was crying.
I was asking why you spoke to me like that.
Like what?
Sending me off to my room?
What are you talking about?
I didn't want to mix...
He's a mess.
I figured you were strong enough to be asked to leave a room without it wounding your pride.
Maybe I miscalculated.
Wh-what was he doing here in the first place?
He freaked out.
He showed up.
Yeah, but why did he think it was okay to come here?
Adam.
I can tell you're about to say something stupid, and I'd rather you didn't.
What did you do to make him think it was okay to come here?
Or say the stupid thing.
That's fine, too.
You-you fuckin' flirt with this guy?
You have a little playful rapport?
Oh, good lord.
You made me look like an idiot.
How did I make you look like an idiot?
I didn't know he was coming here.
I didn't know you were coming either!
You both just showed the fuck up.
Yeah, because I saw that you ran out of some things!
I was just trying to do something nice.
I know that you're invincible.
That nothing I do affects you.
You affect me.
You affect me.
Stupid.
Let's just move on.
No, wait, Adam.
I only flirt with you.
No one else.
And...
I am happy you showed up here.
Yeah?
Yes.
See?
I'm telling you.
This is why you need me around.
Strange men showing up at all hours.
Mm.
Making your own drinks?
You shouldn't be doing that.
I mean, that's...
that's my job.
Alright?
Yeah.
I don't get what your play is here.
You had to know she wasn't coming today.
Honesty seems like an unattainable, lofty goal to you.
I told you things that were true!
You went to jail for doing exactly what you are doing here.
Yes, I omitted salient details, perhaps to make myself look better.
Oh, am I the first person on Earth to do that?
No.
I told myself that I had reached a point in my career that I did not have to treat narcissists.
The only thing I have I...
is my ability to convince people of things.
The lie is all I have.
You want me to tell the truth and have nothing?
Well, no thanks.
That's all the time I have.
That's all the time we have.
Adam?
Adam?
Shit, shit, shit.
Oh, fuck.
Anybody home?
What are you doing here?
Oh man, you are one sick fuck.
I got a call from my probation officer.
She told me.
You didn't sign off!
That's right.
Oh, you asshole!
I'm an asshole?
You're an asshole.
What...
You can't say that.
You showed up at my house like the fucking Night Stalker.
I can say whatever I want.
Look, four sessions!
That was the deal, and I did it.
I told her that I needed more time.
We were making progress.
I don't need to justify myself to you.
Get the hell off my doorstep.
What?
Why?
Why?
You-you can't own what you've done?
Can't defend yourself?
You opened up to me at the end of our last session.
You were honest.
I can't, in good conscience, say that you were good to go when you've only just begun to trust me with the truth.
What is going on?
Nothing.
Doesn't look like nothing.
It looks like you have an icicle up your ass.
Loo-look, I really can't wait to get the hell outta here, but just...
Let me use your bathroom real quick.
You're not coming in my house.
Oh, you think I want to?
I mean, I do.
I want to.
I'm...
I'm asking.
I'm begging.
No.
I was out with these tech kids.
I had five beers.
The car over here was a half hour.
Please, this is getting actually really bad.
Not my problem.
I'm not entirely convinced I don't have to shit also.
Oh god.
Listen, Brooke, uh, I'm about to seek relief in the middle of your yard in about 10 seconds.
I really...
I really need your help here.
Please?
Quick.
Thank you.
Woo!
Ah, holy shit.
That was close.
Thank you.
Out.
You're, uh, you're a little loose.
I like it.
So, what are you up to?
I was attempting to relax.
You know, I do think it's fucked up that you didn't sign off.
In session, Colin.
But you did it...
because you thought I really got somewhere?
Huh.
Makes me wish I hadn't yelled all that stuff at you.
You did call me an asshole though.
You are an asshole.
Well, sure, a little bit.
There are people born with no legs, Brooke.
Wouldn't point that out to them like it's breaking news.
Why are you still in my living room?
I'm regretting coming here.
It was dumb.
I can see that.
I'll just order a car.
Ugh!
Man, my guy's not gonna be here for 10 minutes.
Hey, do you mind...
mind if I wait in here?
Santa Anas are blowing like crazy.
Five minutes.
Sure.
You gonna offer me a drink?
What?
No.
You mind if I help myself then?
Wh...
Colin, this...
Come on, it'll be good!
I'm-I'm even more charming when I'm drunk.
You-you're gonna love it.
Where do you hide your...
Oh!
Never mind.
Found 'em.
Plus, you know, I-I'll have a drink, and maybe, I will finally lose some of my inhibitions.
I did not ask for a drink.
Oh, my dear, you did not have to.
Come on, cheers.
Oh.
Hey.
Adam.
I saw-saw you were outta some stuff, and I was at the store anyways.
Tried to call.
Who's this?
Sorry!
Adam, Colin.
Colin, Adam.
Colin is my patient.
He just...
stopped by.
For a drink.
Mm.
Yeah, can I get you anything?
I'm good.
I'll just...
This is not a session.
Yeah, I'm gettin' that.
What the fuck, Brooke?
He's going through...
It's a long story, but he's about to go.
You had a couple already, huh?
It'll be fine.
He's just waiting for a car.
Hm...
He seems nice.
Stop it.
Alright.
What, uh, what are we talkin' about here?
Eh, sort of...
hard for you to follow without our history.
Yeah?
Try me.
Adam.
Come on.
I'll be right there.
Nice to meet you, Adam!
You are a shit-stirrer.
You...
like, stir shit.
How dare you.
So, uh, before we were interrupted...
This is not a therapy session.
I am not getting paid.
You don't get paid for any of our sessions.
Okay, okay, fine.
But just to clarify, that's why you didn't sign off.
'Cause you thought I was finally being honest.
Huh.
Is that when I said I was nothing?
It was illuminating, your choice of words.
For the record, the fact that you hadn't been honest up until that point was also illuminating.
And very troubling.
Noted.
And, also, I would like to state for the record that I regret calling you a narcissist.
It was rash.
And I believe incorrect.
Narcissists can't see themselves.
You can.
Whoa, whoa...
I'll drink to that.
I do...
see myself.
Hm.
What is it I'm lookin' at?
Hm...
Make yourself comfortable.
The-the other day, when you were asking about plans, the future, in that moment, I-I got so antsy.
Like all the air was going out of the room, you know?
You ever have that?
No.
Anyway, that's how I felt, and...
thinking about it, I don't know what I want.
Which is strange.
You are a special person, Colin, and I would never want you to feel like you are not the most special flower in the world.
Fuck off.
But no one knows what they want.
Well, that's comforting, I guess.
Most people out in the world don't even think to ask the question until it's too late, if they ask it at all.
We have trouble listening to ourselves.
It's like the conversation we had about music.
We don't listen to the voice that says, "That sucks.
Turn that off. "
Break up with this person. "
Move out of this city.
Quit your stupid fucking job."
Hm.
We don't listen.
Until we do.
You-you should always drink before therapy.
This is not therapy.
We ask kids too early "What do you wanna be?
Declare your major."
You can't know what you want if you don't know who you are, and you don't know who you are until...
I mean, I didn't know who the hell I was when I was 18.
Oh yes, yes, yes.
You know, my parents, they started their own thing from the ground up.
That's what I was gonna do.
So, I tried all this crazy shit.
You know, a...
a coffee house, a microbrewery, a record label.
I never cared enough.
You know, I think...
I think I was looking at it wrong.
My parents weren't building a massive health food empire.
They were making granola.
They liked granola.
They started making it, and then it snowballed.
See, I never stopped to figure out what it was I liked.
It's hard if you're spending all your time trying to be something you aren't.
You never took the time to figure out who you are.
God, this is depressing, just so you know.
The guy pushing 60 who discovers himself is not a good look.
I've met that guy.
I fuckin' hated him.
Well, them's the breaks, kid.
Where the fuck is your driver?
Oh, right.
This fucking app.
Looks like he's doing donuts in a Target parking lot.
What, now it says 13 minutes?!
Fuck this clown.
I'm canceling.
I will order another one.
Oh!
Look at that.
Seven minutes.
Man, these names.
Anyway.
I lost my train of thought.
What were we talking about?
Uh, finding yourself at 60.
Mm!
Fuckin' yeah.
It reminded me.
I knew this guy, his name was Grover.
Uh, this was, uh, late '80s, early '90s.
And he was living in his van, sort of a converted thing.
You know, a-a bed, a propane stove.
Camper situation.
Mm-hmm.
I met him, and I'd just sold my brewery, on which I broke even very proud to report, and I'm trying to figure out what's next.
I meet this guy, and he just follows his gut.
You know, he wants to surf?
He heads to the beach.
He wants to see the fuckin' Grand Tetons?
Off he goes.
And I'm sitting there like, "Wow. "
This guy's really got it figured out.
This is how you live."
Anyway, this guy pays for his way of life by...
selling some illicit substances, which is how I made his acquaintance in the first place.
Long story short, I-I'm just basically sold on this.
Because nothing says happiness like an itinerant drug dealer living in a van?
Right?
So, I'm gonna buy a van.
I'm gonna convert it and see the country.
Plus, I have the added benefit of being barf-shit-scream independently wealthy, so I don't have to bother with acquiring and distributing illegal drugs.
Win-win.
So, I gobble up a handful of this gentleman's product.
And, oh-ho, he trafficked in only the most soul-shatteringly potent of substances...
I get it.
Yeah.
So I sit there on the beach.
Mm.
You know, and I'm sort of glued in place, fully losing my mind, and I go on this whole journey, thinking about the van and livin' on the road.
And then I start to think about, like, flat tires and washing my own pots, and just how fuckin' lonely I would be, and so I think, "Well, maybe a van isn't it. "
Maybe it's more of a motor home.
Little more space and so on."
And then, I think about emptying the septic.
And I think about the other kinds of people who drive motor homes, and with whom I would inevitably be spending much of my time.
RV people?
Yeah.
I don't wanna hang out with those people.
I mean, not that there's anything wrong.
I'm sure they're very lovely people, but I just...
I wanna be with people who are engaged.
You know?
In the mix, who are changing the world.
And so, I think, "No, not a motor home.
An actual home. "
In a city.
Beautiful loft apartment some place."
And then...
No, that's not right either.
All the trash piling up on the sidewalk in summer, the vermin, the unfathomable misery of homeless people sleeping on the streets, while I hover above, sending waste down from this magnificent imaginary apartment.
So a country house.
But that's too remote.
I mean, who's gonna fix your fuckin' whatever when it breaks?
So...
I think a place just outside the city, you know?
So I can get in, be in the mix, and then get away whenever I need to.
So I'm laying there on the beach, I'm tripping my balls off on this epic fuckin' mind-walk, and what I had just realized is that I wanted to live...
in the suburbs.
And then my mind just starts racing.
Well, that's what this country, this life, does to people.
You reach a point where all your dreams get reduced to wanting something that just isn't so fucking hard.
And I think about all the endless, sprawling neighborhoods off of every interstate.
All with the same restaurants, the same hardware stores, the same everything else, and then I-I really start to freak out because I think, "Wow.
Is this my future?"
You know, is this, this what I want?
Is this middle age coming for me?
I wanted to be a radical!
You know, man, I wanted to be a revolutionary.
You-you've seen these people.
In their khakis and bloated, off-brand sneakers, and you think, "Oh, my god, is...
How does this happen to a person?"
Well...
this is the answer.
It just creeps in.
So it's like you said.
You know, most people, they don't even ask the question until it's too late.
Well, this was me, as a young man, asking the question.
I was asking what it was I wanted.
I did not have an answer yet but, boy, I knew what I didn't want.
I didn't want an ordinary life.
I wanted it to be big!
I wanted it to-to-to surprise me.
I wanted to take a leap, to really try something.
And if I don't make it, if I fall and crash, get my head split open on the rocks below, so be it, you know.
Risk.
That's what would guide me.
Risk.
So here I am.
Head splattered, half drunk...
in my therapist's house.
I don't know what my point was.
Say no to drugs?
Hah.
Buy some khakis?
I-I don't know.
I don't know.
You know what the problem is?
This isn't Brooke the therapist talking.
This is Brooke the human being, who's had a couple of drinks and is feeling herself a little bit.
This shit is bigger than you.
You are a white straight cis man.
The world was built by you, and for you, to capture, to achieve, to acquire, to plant your goddamn flag.
No obstacles, nothing to overcome, except your own laziness and self-doubt.
And, by the way, give me a fucking break.
And if you don't become a great man, well, why the hell not?
It's all there for the taking.
If you don't become great, it's because you're a piece of shit, or a coward, or a fool.
And then the rest of the world pays the price when you don't feel adequate because you don't have a motherfuckin' clue about what you're feeling or why you are feeling it.
Some people...
Lots of people, those people you were just talking about, they just want to have a house in a decent neighborhood, send their kids to a safe school.
I just wanted to do something that I loved to do, and fuckin' white guys, you need to shatter the model of success in order for you to feel like you've done anything at all.
Well, guess what?
That shit's impossible without taking shortcuts, gaming the system, stepping on other folks, without a shitload of collateral damage.
Do your trips to the doctor move the stock market?
Do your dinner parties determine the next leader of the free world?
Because this is all some patriarchal, dick-measuring horseshit.
All this talk about renaming buildings and whatnot because so-and-so was a monster?
I say, take 'em all down.
If your name is on the side of a building, chances are you did some horrendous shit to get it there.
Philanthropy is just a way to wash the blood off your billions.
Anyway...
Say no to drugs.
You okay?
I'm sorry.
I-I don't know what...
God...
I don't know what's happening to me.
Jesus Christ.
I'm sorry.
I...
I know this isn't even a session, but...
Huh.
There's my ride.
Fuck.
Look, thank you for...
for hearing me out.
For giving me a chance, or a second chance.
Third chance.
I'm not sure.
Heh.
I'm really sorry I...
showed up at your door tonight and...
shouted all those insults at you.
Well, we have time to work on that, too.
See you next week.
I'm okay to enter now?
What was that?
He is...
I don't know.
He's having a tough time.
It didn't feel right to turn him away.
Oh, he's drunk.
Emotional.
I wasn't asking why he was crying.
I was asking why you spoke to me like that.
Like what?
Sending me off to my room?
What are you talking about?
I didn't want to mix...
He's a mess.
I figured you were strong enough to be asked to leave a room without it wounding your pride.
Maybe I miscalculated.
Wh-what was he doing here in the first place?
He freaked out.
He showed up.
Yeah, but why did he think it was okay to come here?
Adam.
I can tell you're about to say something stupid, and I'd rather you didn't.
What did you do to make him think it was okay to come here?
Or say the stupid thing.
That's fine, too.
You-you fuckin' flirt with this guy?
You have a little playful rapport?
Oh, good lord.
You made me look like an idiot.
How did I make you look like an idiot?
I didn't know he was coming here.
I didn't know you were coming either!
You both just showed the fuck up.
Yeah, because I saw that you ran out of some things!
I was just trying to do something nice.
I know that you're invincible.
That nothing I do affects you.
You affect me.
You affect me.
Stupid.
Let's just move on.
No, wait, Adam.
I only flirt with you.
No one else.
And...
I am happy you showed up here.
Yeah?
Yes.
See?
I'm telling you.
This is why you need me around.
Strange men showing up at all hours.
Mm.
Making your own drinks?
You shouldn't be doing that.
I mean, that's...
that's my job.
Alright?
Yeah.