NITA: No I don’t fucking know.
SHAWN: Ok well (gestures like “figure it out.”)
NITA: You’re a bitch.
SHAWN: OK well.
NITA: Like I’m pouring my heart out to you.
SHAWN: You’re honestly not.
SHAWN: You’re honestly just telling me a lot of fake shit I think. Like is there a real problem you’re currently not facing? Or like—god I don’t even want you to answer that like. Get a fucking therapist like the rest of us?
NITA: OK. Yeah. Well you should definitely, uh, consider like going to hell I think, so. Yeah.
Nita starts to cry and it’s really loud like a teenager sobbing uncontrollably but then. She stops. She drinks a glass of water. She goes pee. She flushes. She doesn’t wash her hands. She looks around. She waits. She waits. She sits on the floor. She looks around. She waits. She frowns. She waits.