INT: SAINT VITUS BAR IN GREENPOINT BROOKLYN
Morrissey is sitting at the bar with a surgical mask on his face. Thurston Moore and Henry Rollins walk in. Henry is carrying a duffel bag. They both sit down next to Morrissey. It’s sunny outside, but the bar is dark and morose inside. At The Gates’ Slaughter of the Soul is playing on the stereo.
Why the hell did you ask me to come here? It’s filthy.
I think I’m getting Ebola just from sitting here.
Are you kidding? I love this place. They always play
some of my favorite metal albums. Besides, if we’re
spotted here, Pitchfork is sure to write a news post about it.
You hear about Robin Williams?
So sad man, that dude was awesome.
Fuck that wanker! Only a pussy commits suicide!
THURSTON & HENRY (TOGETHER)
I mean, seriously mates, who does that when they
still have a family at home?
I can see that, but depression is a dark beast.
It’s ironic you mention dark beasts, that’s the title of
my new black metal album.
Ironic or coincidental?
A man behind the bar with a dark long beard—the “metal” kind of beard, not the “hipster” kind—asks if they’d like a drink.
I’ll have a Brooklyn Lager and whatever these guys are having.
Morrissey pulls out a glass from his messenger bag.
Can you give me an organic ginger beer? Please don’t
open it, I’ll take care of it.
(to Thurston & Henry)
Ginger is one of the best things you can eat when
you’re feeling under the weather you know.
(Sigh) Isn’t this fucking Brooklyn? I can’t step into a
fucking store and buy anything other than organic fucking everything,
but when I try to order a God-damned organic ginger beer from a bar
it’s like I’m asking the fucking Queen of England to make a scat video.
Whoa man, I did not see you taking it that way.
Are you always this angry?
I know, I know. I don’t know why I’m like this. It’s like I spent
all of my 20s singing songs for sad kids, I guess I never
let out all of my pent-up rage.
You know what’s good for pent up-rage? Eating rats.
Ever eat a rat, Mor?
Oooh, that’s a good idea for the cover of my new black metal album.
Seriously? Don’t you hate that misogynistic, fake devil-worshipping bullshit?
Do you work for Jezebel?
Whatever man, don’t steal my ideas.
Henry reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out a dumbbell and starts lifting it while sitting at the bar.
Besides, black metal is made by pussies of the lowest order.
You mean supporting acts?
All three laugh uncontrollably.
But seriously, why did you ask me to meet you here again?
Shhh, wait, I think that guy works for Pitchfork. Act nonchalant.
All three begin fake talking to each other.
Ugh, never mind, it’s just Brooklyn Vegan.