A warm spring night on the hill behind the Observatory. Sally supine in the grass, George crawling around on his hands and knees.

SALLY: Did it have to end this way?

GEORGE: Where are my glasses?

SALLY: It was so beautiful--the twilight walks by the Charles, hand in hand; the Wednesday night dinners by candle light; the early morning bicycle rides around Fresh Pond--

GEO.: How can I see without my glasses?

SAL.: Do you remember when we both discovered Joyce in the same week and you read me the great sermon in Portrait until I cried and I read you his poems until you cried while we were walking round and round the Quad dodging frisbees--

GEO.: My glasses. I can't study without my glasses.

SAL.: And those final tender moments on the steps when you would cover my ear with kisses and whisper sweetly--

GEO.: Did you see my glasses fall out of my pocket? I just can't find them in this tall grass. Help me look, won't you?

SAL. (sighs): Oh, why did it have to end? And why did it have to end this way?

GEO.: Hey, there's a bug on your leg.

SAL.: Don't touch me!

GEO.: Typical. I wonder where my glasses are. (Slap.)

SAL.: Got it. Little did I know, George, that all those wonderful hours would lead to this sordid, buggy night.

GEO.: Me either. Want some insect repellent?