Hung

- Keep 'em closed. - They're closed.

- God, Ray. - All right.

I hope this isn't the part where you hack me

into bits and bury me in the woods.

This is not the outfit I want to be found dead in.

- All right. - Why are we stopping?

'Cause we're here. Okay, open 'em.

- This is it? - This is it.

Your tent?

My tent.

Is this your property?

This is my property.

This is my lake. This is my yard.

My house.

And my tent.

Oh, why can't we just go in the house?

I don't live in a house. I live in a tent.

Come on.

Marcel proust?

Marcel proust. Your tattoo.

Oh, right. Yeah.

I should have gotten Sylvia Plath.

I had a man... an ugly man...

tell me I wasn't ugly.

An ugly man...

named Floyd.

You're not ugly.

You're not real, are you?

I'm Pierce.

This was it. No more bullshit.

No Randall. No force-fed lines.

No flat tires by the side of the road.

It was just me and her

making out in my tent with the wind howling outside.

Oh, fuck.

You're... you're unbelievable.

It felt different this time.

It felt real.

Which is why waking up next to that pile of cold hard cash

felt like such a kick in the gut.

Shit, Jemma.

I thought we were past this.

Oh my God.

Ray, what are you doing here?

Here. Here's your cut.

She paid you directly again?

Unbelievable.

It just feels fantastic to be undermined at every turn.

Is it all here?

You know what? Now's not a good time for company.

Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for last night.

I didn't even want this money.

I just...

I don't think Jemma should be a client anymore.

- You want to cut her off? - No, I don't want to cut her off.

I just don't...

i don't want her to be a client.

What are you saying?

I think...

- What? - I want her to...

To be a girlfriend or something?

Hey, babe, can I use this eggplant?

You... yeah.

What?

All I know is that there's something going on between us.

Some... thing that...

- Babe, eggplant? - It's fine.

Just use it. You want to explain something to me?

Just how do you see this business venture of ours working?

Because I've been pouring my blood, sweat and tears

into this happiness consultant thing

and you seem determined to undermine our success.

- Me? - Yeah.

Look, you've the one who can't even launch

a viral marketing campaign without leaving a phone number.

It's supposed to enter through the subconscious.

You know, if you have all the answers, then you book the clients.

Just let me know when you've got some lined up. All right?

I could do that.

Oh, crimeny.

Hey, Jemma.

Guess you slipped out pretty quietly this morning.

Anyway, looks like some cash fell out of your purse.

But since it did, let me take you out.

Give me a call.

This is Ray.

It's almost ready.

It smells good.

Anything interesting?

Oh, sorry for snooping.

Just, I'm interested in your work.

That's part of a travel series I did called "Bombed."

"Bombed"? You were bombed?

I was bombed, they were bombed.

The premise is I go to a war-torn country

and I get drunk with the locals.

Is that was I was? Another drunk local?

No, you...

Are you kidding?

You were art.

What about you?

What's your process like, you know, as a poet?

Mmm, I don't have a set process really.

Lately my work's been avoiding me.

How long's it been avoiding you for?

About two years.

- Two years? - Yeah.

I've been pretty blocked.

That's the most tragic thing I ever heard.

I just... I hate that,

when people say I'm a poet and they don't even write.

When I was a child, I was really prolific.

My adolescence

was so fertile.

I hemorrhaged words.

So what stopped the bleeding?

I think it was my mother.

I can't believe we're doing this.

Don't you have a better way to spend the weekend?

No. No I don't.

You're my new pet project.

I'm a man on a mission. We're gonna get you writing again.

You don't understand.

My mother's a bitter academic. Always judges me.

So, poets need to suffer.

Okay, listen. Trust me. This is going to work.

You grow as an artist every time you walk through that door.

Come on.

Mother?

Hello?

Anyone home?

That right there is the mother of my unborn child.

Really? The middle finger to a man you just met?

I don't feel like we just met.

"Tanya Skagle, state forensics champion."

Oh yeah, proud of it.

First place, dramatic interpretation.

Voted most likely to save the whales.

Oh yeah. I really dropped the ball on those whales though.

Oh wait, see? This is from seventh grade.

The year I had really bad B.O.

and my mom wouldn't let me wear deodorant.

I wrote a poem about it.

"Indelible stench"?

You know...

I used to dry hump

my neighbor Jacob on this carpet.

You want me to show you how I did it?

- Mm-hmm. - Okay, he'd say go.

- And then, like... - okay.

Out of curiosity, did Jacob have any pubic hair?

Because I do,

and I actually feel like you're about to start a brush fire.

What, that doesn't do anything for you?

Hello? Is someone here?

Shit. Get up.

- Get up. Act natural. - Tanya?

- Is that you? - In my room.

How did I know it was Tanya?

I followed the trail. Dirt all the way up the stairs.

Hi, Mom.

Tanya, again with the yearbooks?

Oh my God. She loves to take boys

up here and show them the yearbooks.

Hi, Mrs. Skagle. I'm Pierce.

So nice to meet you.

My goodness, he's a teenager.

What are you doing with an old woman like Tanya?

I am...

I'm fascinated with your daughter.

That makes two of us.

New clients.

I told Tanya I'd find some,

but how the hell was I supposed to do that?

How do you tell when they're good and firm?

Have a nice day.

Being my own pimp.

It was a little harder than I thought.

Mmm, peach.

Ahem.

Smell nice.

- Ray! - Jess.

Jesus, what are you doing here?

Hi.

I was just...

stocking up.

- On flowers? - Yeah, I like flowers.

I thought you were a meat and potatoes guy.

No.

- Not always. - No?

Things change, Jess, sometimes.

How are you, Ray?

Good.

I'm good.

No, really. How are you?

I'm really good. House is shaping up.

I think I met someone.

- Um, the woman at the game? - Yeah.

- The blonde. - I like blondes.

You always did.