Monsterland

Look, my client has a reasonable expectation of privacy

everywhere on his property,

including the backyard.

Ten acres of pristine natural forest. Just to be clear.

For which he paid handsomely and can therefore expect to control.

They're his domain.

We're not talking about his "domain," we're talking about the airspace above it.

My client has the right to fly her plane over his yard.

And take high-res photos of the private property?

I don't think so.

Of trees! For a nature magazine!

And they are visible from public space.

There's no right to privacy in the air. California v. Ciraolo:

Aerial observation of a person's backyard is not a violation

of the Fourth Amendment.

Kyllo v.

Surveillance of private property from a public vantage point

constitutes a search and requires a warrant.

Okay, that was thermal imaging technology deployed by cops,

not photos taken by a wilderness blogger.

And who's to say the cops won't come next?

Do you really want to set that precedent, counselor?

That we can spy on private citizens as long as we do it from above?

No, counselor.

I want to set the precedent that the sky is not for sale.

Okay! Time's up.

Thank you, ladies. That was zealous.

And a stalemate, if I ever saw one.

Who wants to follow them?

Not me.

Come on, don't be shy. Mr. Clifford?

Miss Andrews? Come on, you're up, let's go.

All right, give me your napkin.

Pen?

Excuse me?

Hey. Hi, I'm Kate.

- Gus. - Gus. Hi.

Can I borrow your pen? I promise I won't steal it.

All right.

Thank you.

All right.

Shameless.

Whatever. Okay.

Year 16, what are we gonna do?

Renovate the basement.

Wow. Fun.

- Happy anniversary. - What? Have you been down there recently?

We got mold, we got bugs.

Exactly, it's a murderscape. Lost cause.

Now, I am going to get a white dove orchid.

And I'm going to keep that bitch alive, so help me god.

Okay, gauntlet thrown.

And I'm gonna finish the scrapbook in time for Heather's bat mitzvah.

- What else? - Yes, ma'am.

What else? I was thinking maybe I could kill Barb.

- I-slash-we. - Barb Bressler?

No, Streisand.

Yes, Barb Bressler!

Wicked witch of the cul-de-sac.

"Murder... Barb."

Or maybe just her dog.

You know, I'd settle for her little dog. "Susan."

"Susan."

Do you know that thing has ten thousand followers on Instagram?

Unh-unh.

All right, all right, all right. All right.

Copy that. No work.

- Thank you. - No work.

Okay. So we have four goals so far,

two are chores, one is a felony.

It's a public service, really.

Correct. Still...

What are we gonna do for us?

I mean, considering we survived the shitstorm that was Year 15,

I think it's kinda like, go big or go home, right?

So we go big, then.

What do you have in mind?

Italy.

Six weeks. Rome, Venice, Tuscany. Gelato.

Museums. Wine tours.

You and me.

What do you think?

Well, I mean, you had me at gelato, so.

Good. 'Cause, um,

we leave in a month.

Wait, you

you booked it already?

Yeah.

I went big.

Yeah, you did!

- Wow, this is... - Yeah.

Thank you. Thank you, baby. I... I love you.

All right, all right, break it up.

Tequila shots,

courtesy of jealous bartenders everywhere.

Aww!

- Thank you, Gus. - No.

Yes. Come on, down the hatch.

Fifteen years today, I hear that right?

Holy shit.

- Woo! - Fifteen years down.

What's the secret,

you don't mind me asking?

Marry her.

Ooh!

My foot.

I have to send this message.

Ooh!

No, we changed the code, remember?

Good thinkin', boss.

Hello!

Yeah. No, it's the homeowners. We...

No, we had too much to drink.

- What are you doing? - I need a corkscrew.

Authorization, um...

Should be our kid's birth date. 9407?

Thank God.

Yeah.

We will. Okay.

Least we know they can protect us from us, right?

Yeah.

Hey, um, I... I'm... I'm good for tonight.

Come on!

It's a special occasion.

Shiraz, from the partners.

No, I know, but those shots did me in.

And, well, I...

And with your medication,

we should, you know, quit while we're ahead, yeah?

Or you could not be such a buzzkill

and we could toast to staying fun in Year 16.

Fine. One glass.

Yay!

And water!

- Thank you. - Yeah.

Wow. Dinner's at 7:00.

- You're not even dressed. - What are you doing here?

Come on. Costume change.

Did you not get my message?

Which?

You mean your 28 second breakup voicemail?

"Hi, it's me,

"I think you're the love of my life,

but also we're over."

Okay. I guess you got it.

Sure did.

But then I realized

that if you can unilaterally decide we're breaking up,

after six objectively perfect months,

then I can unilaterally decide that we're not!

And since we're not,

I don't wanna lose the table. So, put on some real pants.

Wait, no, I was serious.

I have reasons.

Okay.

Let's hear 'em, then.

Make your case, counselor, and I'll make mine.

Due process.

So, last weekend,

you asked me to go hiking

and I said I couldn't because I had to go

to my cousin Eli's wedding in Springfield.

I wasn't at his wedding.

I was running around my building, naked.

Kind of half-screaming, half-singing,

until my neighbor called the cops.

I had a, um,

manic episode.

I have bipolar, type 1. Type "fun."

Except, you know. Not.

This is some of the stuff I, um, take for it.

They all, like, kinda work when they feel like it.

And therapy helps, obviously.

And routine, exercise, sleep.

All of these plants, I had a social worker once

who told me to "surround myself with life."

So I bought a fern.

And it helped a little.

I know myself, okay.

And I am more in it with you every second.

So I have to walk away now.

Your turn.

I love you.

No, Shawn, no, that's not an argument.

Yes, it is.

- No. - It's the only argument, Kate.

I know you say that right now,

but this thing that's inside of me,

it's mean.

And sooner or later, it will wear you down, Shawn.

And one day, you'll think, "You know what?

This is too much."

And you'll be right. So...

- Shawn? - Yeah. Just

pull the merger agreement for me,

have it on my desk when I come in.

Do you want digital or hard copy?

Hard copy, yeah.

Okay, so I'll...

Get off the phone.