“I’ve been mean-ing to ask you,” coos Marilyn, washing her hands before exiting the joint just as she did when entering. “How’s Di-nah doing? I never see her around any more.”
“Oh, pheh,” Moe waved off the poster behind the wash basin. “That old thing? That’s just an expression. You can do it by yourself if needed. Right Zapppa?”
Zapppa continued to look at the counter, obviously uncomfortable in the moment. “I’m not here for small talk, Moe,” he said in a big voice. He then stared straight into his eyes, determined to get it over. “You’re fired.”
Moe picks up a beer glass, wipes it, sets it down again. “It’s — it’s that girl, isn’t it? She’s *helping* you.”
“No, I didn’t say that.” He gets up to leave; reaches into Cassandra’s brain container first.
“Hey! Where you going with Homer’s head?? And, hey, what’s, er, this here at the bottom of his jar?”
“Retirement pension!” Zapppa shouted back before disappearing over the Montana horizon, knowing that egg would take him far.
Sunklands 