Enter Henry, returning home from a day of doing little at his job. Spies something awry near the computer.
Henry: What has happened to the keyboard?
Keyboard is half-dead, whimpering, with its space bar dangling from its socket. Those plastic-proppy things are snapped clean off the back and lay in a dilapidated fashion on the computer desk. A mysterious prong-y apparatus also sits in discarded discord.&
Erin, nervously: I don’t know. It’s been like that all day. Fiddles with cuticles.
Henry, inspecting it closely: Strange, it wasn’t like that last night.
Erin, self-righteously: I DID NOT DO THAT. I SWEAR TO GOD. IT WASN’T ME.
Henry, in a goading tone: Erin.
Erin, screaming hysterically and obviously: IT WASN’T ME I SWEAR TO GOD!
Henry: This is an Erin-move. It has your name written all over it. So, what pissed you off and made you smash it?
Henry provokes Erin some more, laughing at her state of frantic imbalance. Walks over to shuffle through the mail.
Henry, holding up a flyer from Full Sail, a recording arts school, reads it out loud: “Create a career in music.”
Erin, still ruffled about the appropos inquisition: I don’t want a career in music! I want a career underground, in a casket.
Henry, still perusing the flyer: Let me help you with that.