Non Trovo Pace Notte Ni De, Ma Pur Mi Piace Languir Cosi

This is the story of my life:

Setting: The South, now

Scene 1: A scantily furnished room. There are two second hand arm-chairs with a moldy looking ottoman. In between the chairs sits a table with an equally dismal lamp. Everywhere books are stacked up hap-hazardly, disrupting the room. There is literally (no pun) a magnitude of books overwhelming the setting. The room is dark.

Enter LEWIS, wearing a white shirt and tie, black pants and boots. His boots are idiosyncratically untied, foiling his clean-cut appearance.

LEWIS is a boy rapidly approaching manhood with a deep brooding voice and a bit of a perpetual scowl on his face. Despite this, he has a very austere sense of manners and Southern gentry. Everything about him is on pens and needles, t’s crossed and i’s dotted. Waiting inside of him is a gruff, but sincere “good morning” and firm handshake for those who would cross his path. LEWIS is a photographer and a writer, quite good and well-received for it. He walks slowly and deliberately and is average height with a medium build.

Enter ROUSSEAU, wearing a blue button-down shirt, and khaki pants, soiled shoes. He has a “dusty” look about him.

ROUSSEAU is also a boy of eighteen or nineteen. He has a light, but sad face with a tenor voice. ROUSSEAU is LEWIS’s foil. Whereas LEWIS is every bit the Southern Ideal, ROUSSEAU finds only hypocrisy and ignorance from his homeland. ROUSSEAU is sloppy, lanky, and uninhibited in his movements. He speaks his mind and is predestined to both cynicism and Romanticism. Despite occasional boldness, ROUSSEAU is shy and self conscious. He is a poet, but unlike LEWIS, his art has not been well received, and he’s heavily bitter about it. Although he would never admit it.

ROUSSEAU and LEWIS are best friends. In their minds, they are the only two that can truly understand the complexities of each other. This is especially true for ROUSSEAU who doesn’t trust easily and fears crowds, while LEWIS considers himself a friend to everyone and is much more open. The two young men are devoted to one another.

LEWIS is generally Protestant (southern) and ROUSSEAU is a former atheist with a strong fascination for Catholicism. Both boys are naïve in their youth, but have already become disillusioned with the world. They think of themselves as special and different for realizing that the world around them is ultimately shit fragmented with brief, wonderful moments of beauty.

LEWIS and ROUSSEAU sit opposite each other in the arm-chairs. They star intently at one another