Inside Handlebar, Wicker Park, Chicago. A couple sit at a table facing each other. The male has a tuna steak sandwich and a pint of beer. The female has only a glass of wine.
Female: Alternative lit is dying. Noah Cicero released The Human War almost 10 years ago. Tao Lin came to prominence almost 5 years ago. It will be dead within the year and you have written nothing but a mediocre short play and a chapbook of poetry. You will not be remembered.
Male: [looks down at the sandwich, voice chocked up]It will come back again Amy and you know it.
Amy: In ten years maybe. You'll be 35 Scott, 35. Are you planning to still be here, drinking yourself dead at a shithole bar? Are you?
Scott: [Swallows a gulp of beer] I don't know what you want me to say.
Amy: You said it Scott, you just said it. [She finishes her wine and gets up]
Scott: [getting up after her] Where are you going?
Amy: Away Scott, away. [Exits the bar]
Scott:[sitting back down, looks at sandwich]Fuck you tuna.
This piece is so raw and moving, I really feel a connection with Scott and his discontent towards the tuna.
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