the man and the boy are finding it harder to huddle together. not cos they don't want to or they don't love each other, they're running out of space in that cave. their beloved horse is presumed dead and they can only rely on themselves. they are alone in the universe.
the man: how are you?
the boy: fine, thanks for asking. but i'm not fine. the milk from these bone structures are keeping me nourished, but i need meat!
man: i know but we can't.
boy: i know.
man: and we can't go outside. we can never go outside.
boy: not as long as the Sun is out there. and he's always there.
man: i use the bones as a pillow. they strain into threads of soft fluffy down if you pray on them long enough.
boy: i see you scratching as you're praying. you use your hands not as idle folds but as tools of the trade.
man: sorry for spying. we really are cramped in here.
boy: would you rather have no space or be dead?
man: i'd rather be free.
boy: are you using your sturdy leg bone as your emergency spear? just in case.
man: well no, i brought along my spear when we hightailed it into here. just in case.
boy: seems sensible now. if only all our decisions could be made with the blissful rationale of timeless studied logic.
man: it's these trippy emotions which are tripping me up, man. i don't remember being so on edge when we were stars.
boy: we were just the edges.
man: the bones are all-encompassing and universal. they give us what we need if we trust in them.
boy: were they here before us? would they be here without us? is it in the being or the trusting?
man: is the knowing enough? are you dreaming? that's all that matters.
boy: yes, but i forget them all. my mind is too small.
man: nah, just malleable. mine isn't much better. but i remember more. perhaps because it's all i have as i get older.
boy: well, old man, that is why the elders teach us the old ways. to think we would be led by the words of babes.
man: how does a word form if not through a desire of a young one to sew meaning into his gurgle? i saw it with you. a long time ago.
boy: i wish i remembered being a child.
man: i dreamt last night. a big bold bodacious dream.
boy: of the woman.
man: of a woman. of the moon. a heavenly body of another sort. softer than the Sun. motherly. matronly. dignified queen of the stars which lap her feet. she was standing there as i left the cave finally. like a prisoner on parole. she smiled at me and i winked back her dots. i raised my naked arms in the air and i swear i felt the wind itself for the first time on my tongue. i spoke a few words to her but each of those words were charged with all the different meanings in the dictionary.
boy: that sounds like a magnificent dream.
man: it felt so real. cos it was real. it had to be. i mean, i really do think i was sleepwalking last night.
boy: i thought i heard the boulder roll away. it was quite the rumble. 'course it could have also been my stomach.
boy: sir, what is our destiny? is it ours to know? do we need a woman to save us?
man: to live. we live. we have to live. must. we have to. but i fear we must rely only on ourselves.
boy: how terribly boring and deadening. we're supposed to save ourselves? but how?
man: at this point i'll take a female horse.
at the CNN studios there's a rumor going around that there's tons of sex on the CNN set!
Anderson: that was just a rumor started by Gannon and his rag of an online newspaper. no truth to it whatsoever. we're dignified round here.
Kirsten Powers: what are all those urine-stained bedless mattresses in the back for?
Anderson: my bunnies. we alternate weeks Billy Corgan and i tending them. Billy has more carrots than i do.
Kirsten: thought a queen like you would have all the carats. oh hi honey!
Kirsten waves to a glum Pope on the other side of the camera screen down in the dumps over her worms.
the Pope: i got worms. when are you coming home?
Kirsten: after work. shouldn't be long. it never is. i never am. what are you doing?
Pope: nuffin, muffin. waiting for you.
the CNN cast are watching the tennis inbetween their breaks. they watch all the break points.
Anderson: you know they film the Open just next door here. in the studio next to ours.
Kirsten: it always seems the best tennis is in Florida. everyone's always raving on in my ear about damn Florida!
Wolf: we are all just Florida now.
on a particularly long break point the cast and crew break into Anderson's private changing room.
Kirsten: shit that padlock was on tight. speaking of tight...
the people witness Anderson and Wolf in some shenanigans over the slatted shade.
Kirsten: and what exactly are you two doing together?
Anderson: Wolf was just teaching me the methods. of good journalism. he is my elder after all.
Wolf: no one and i mean no one can resist the beard. even the animals on my yard. just a professional courtesy, get your mind out of the sewer where the turtles live. save that tawdry for the scroll headlines. i'd do it for any one of you.
Kirsten: and yet strangely not me. i wonder why that's the case.
the cast and crew crash into the next door, ramming with a Mueller squad the iron lock. it's Cliff Drysdale's dressing room. he's just finished finishing on Chris McKendry and Mary Joe Fernandez and Chrissie Evert guiding her breasts.
Mary Joe: so handsome, Cliffy! i'm ready for that Handsome Eight-ball.
Cliff: i made sure to catch each of your faces. to divide my yogurt equally between the two Chrises. it's only the fair-minded thing to do.
Chris: you are so gentlemanly! that English accent hooks me.
Cliff: i'm South African.
Chrissie: chocolate, even better! it's like English but more exotic.
Kirsten: i enjoy OUI by Yoplait. but my girlfriend never gets french yogurt for me anymore cos she never visits France anymore. the Pope would get mobbed in Paris...
Cliff: and that, audience, freeze the frame right there, is how you do it. when i'm done holding everything, i simply remove my tennis glove, throw it in the trash, and move on.
the audience at home and in studio applaud.
Kirsten: now THAT's how you do it. if you're gonna do it really do it.
Anderson takes electronic notes.
Wolf: in my day going all the way meant growing a beard. when my sister who was away at college phoned that she went all the way that's what it meant. my sister came home to visit us on Christmas cos her circus was off for one day. my sister had a beard.
at the US Open the competition is heating up. favorites drop, sob stories go dry, and the American women are making those in the country proud again.
Pat Cash signs on to coach Coco Vandeweghe.
Coco: what? i got that New York Los Angeles snark going on that everyone in the middle of the country appreciates. and i'm cute.
Pat Cash: you're arrogant before a Slam, Colleen. you know how much i wanted to be a millionaire playboy before my time? the bouncer said he's only let me in the club if i won Wimbledon. that bouncer was Kader Nouni.
Coco: i look cute in a dress. you've seen the ball pictures?
Cash: you're still 100% tomboy. i'm cash money, homey. i took this gig to make a name for myself. again. there is one thing worse than taxes: twitter irrelevance. i invented everything in this sport: the climbing into the stands, Super Saturday, and 40 Love.
Coco: you invented the score 40/love?
Cash: 40 pints of love, ask your mother.
Coco: i have a smooth silky voice like cocoa.
Cash: it's more like midnight oil. when the cameras are on you, they're on me. i'm on the phones making deals like Bump. when Anderson asks you about your meteoric rise, you attribute all your success to me, got that, kid?
Coco begins to snarl and smoke and smashes her racquet.
Cash: you want motivation? get down there and hit a few balls, you witch!
Coco kicks John McEnroe in the stands eating a steak-dog in the balls.
Maria Sharapova: listen, i don't make the schedule. if they want to play me in the parking lot in Queens i'm amenable. i seem to seem to still be in this tournament, don't know where that witch is.
Caroline Wozniacki: i really hate that princess. she's a drug cheat and not that hot. i mean i'm hotter. not right now but in general. she's just mad that the Swarovski crystal i gave her for her birthday she couldn't pawn off for drugs cos the dealer recognized her on the street despite her hood.
Maria plays her next match on the parking lot and loses. Caroline is the parking attendant.
Caroline: woman in a box.
Maria: hey Woz. what's that CK on your cap?
Caroline: K is my middle name. K is everyone's middle name. i really need to become relevant again. do you have Rory's number? i accidentally burned it.
Maria: you know what you must do. i'm here on behalf of Commissioner McEnroe.
Caroline: fine. i know it's not working out. i'll go away on one condition: you round up all the chair umpires, Kader, Marija and all 'em, and you fix it so Fed and Nadal play the US Open final, that is the only thing that will save the sport.
Maria: Rory's dead.
Maria: cos golf's dead.
President Bump interrupts Mnuchin.
Mnuchin: i want to fuck Ivanka...
Mnuchin: i'm Scrooge McDuck...
Bump: i'll do it later. this tsunami is gonna be the wall i promised, it's doing the work for me.
Mooch: and here we have the piadina. oh this takes me back. my own grandmother's recipe.
Bump: your grandmother was a good woman.
Mooch: it's really disconcerting whenever you say that.
Bump: so are we touring or are we touring? buses, buses, buses are always the answer.
Vlad Putin: Russia is good at suffering.
Mooch: sir the nation wants a message on the hurricane.
Bump: don't worry, it will lessen in strength, it's not the end of the world.
Kim and the Statue of Liberty hold a conversation in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
Kim: they say it's a Category 6 Pacific Hurricane!