Day 21: Waiting for CC

CASHMAN: Have you heard anything?

GIRARDI: Only the wind.

CASHMAN: What does the wind say?

GIRARDI: That life is a one-lunged whore, and death is her wealthy suitor.

CASHMAN: Did the wind really say that?

GIRARDI: Actually, no. Hank scribbled it onto a cocktail napkin during "Tony Danza: One-Man Live."

(They ponder meaningless existence for 60 seconds, signifying the passage of a minute.)

CASHMAN: He's not coming, is he?

GIRARDI: No. He's not.

CASHMAN: Is it because he does not exist?

GIRARDI: No. He exists.

CASHMAN: Is it because we don't exist?

GIRARDI: No. I think we exist.

CASHMAN: Is it New York City? Is it the crime, stench, human degradation and eternal slippage from farce into tragedy?

GIRARDI: I don't think it's that.

CASHMAN: Is it the team? Is it the egos, entourages, meglomaniacs and failure to hit with runners in scoring position?

GIRARDI: I don't think so.

CASHMAN: Is it the AL East? Is it the hitters, line-ups, death threats and scary-looking sportswriters in bad shirts?

GIRARDI: I don't think it's that.

CASHMAN: Is it us? Is it what we are? Is it that we're not good enough? Not pure enough? Not righteous enough? Is it something in the basic philosophy, the totality of our existence, so that no amount of money in this world will coax him to come to this hillside tonight and visit us?

GIRARDI: I do not know.

(They ponder the utter senselessness of everything.)

CASHMAN: Madonna, right?

GIRARDI: Bingo.