INT. PETER'S BEDROOM
Peter stares hopelessly at the iChat window before him. David's eyes reveal their own sense of hopelessness, suggesting he's accepted the lost cause that is cheering up his fiance this time around. Despite his total lack of confidence in this matter, he persists:
Babe, we've come so far. You have to stay strong. Now, only less than half a year...
I know, babe.
I was trying to make it sound better than it was. I guess I failed.
(Seemingly disregarding the previous comment)
I just feel like...
(breaks into a sob)
time isn't passing at all.
EXT. Indistinct Eixample Street in Barcelona. As David walks down the sidewalk, he zips up a light-weight jacket and fastens the scarf he's wearing snugly around his neck, acknowledging a new and seemingly unexpected nip in the air.
EXT. All too familiar Midwestern blizzard scene outside Peter's apartment. Peter angrily beats on his 1999 Dodge Stratus' windshield with an ice scraper/brush combo in a desperate, yet half-hearted attempt to remove the many layers of ice and snow.
CLOSE - SHOT - PETER
Tears form in his eyes, laden with frustration and sadness. He resigns, entering his decade-old, heatless car.
(Dramatically, Sobbing, yet again)
Yeah. So that pretty much sums up how I feel about my side of this situation.
Side Note: Inflatable, Christmas lawn decorations should be BANNED. At the very least, after January fifth. Please. Two months of that tasteless, mind-boggling bullshit is enough! No?