November

Turner: You're funny. You take pictures of empty streets and trees with no leaves on them.

Kathy: It's winter.

Turner: Not quite winter. They look like November. Not autumn, not winter. In-between. I like them.

Kathy: Thanks.

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Kathy: Sometimes, I— I take a picture that… isn't like me, but I took it, so it is like me. It has to be. I put those pictures away.

Turner: I'd like to see those pictures.

Kathy: We don't know each other that that well.

Turner: Do you know anybody that well?

Kathy: I don't think I want to know you very well. I don't think you're gonna live much longer.

Turner: Well, I may… surprise you. Anyway, you're not telling the truth.

Kathy: What do you mean?

Turner: You'd rather be with somebody who's not going to live much longer, at least somebody who would be on his way.

Kathy: I'm not--

Turner: You take pictures. Beautiful pictures, but of empty streets and trees with no leaves--November. Why haven't you asked me to untie your hands?

Kathy: H-How much doyou want...

Turner: I just...want to stop it. For a few hours. For the rest of the night. And then I'll go.