Scene: the Hatchling’s bedroom, from 9-11:30 PM.
The Hatchling: WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Squab: Whatsa matter, bean? Do you have a diaper? huh? Need a snack? (gets Hatchling up, changes her, offers boob)
The Hatchling: SUCK SUCK SUCK suck suck suck suck suck zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …
Squab (carefully scoots to edge of rocker, slooooooooowly stands up, tiptoes over to crib, gennnnnnnntly lays Hatchling in crib)
The Hatchling: WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Squab: Crap. (picks Hatchling up, reswaddles her even tighter, turns her sideways and starts to jiggle) Shhhhhh … shhhhhh … shhhhhhh … shhhhhh …
The Hatchling: waaaahh.
(Repeat for 10 minutes. Squab loses sensation in her lips and her spit dries up.)
Squab: Shhhhbbbth … fuck.
The Hatchling: waaaAAAAAAAH!
Squab (to Mr. Squab): Honey?!?! Where’s the radio?
Mr. Squab: What radio?
Squab: My boombox, the small one!
Mr. Squab: Hang on, I’ll find it. (sounds of digging around downstairs) OK, here it is.
Squab: Take her while I find a static station.
The Hatchling: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Mr. Squab: Shhhhh … shhhhh … shhhh … shhhh …
Squab (punching through every station on the dial): No … no … no … why the fuck isn’t there any pure static? How can there be stations close to every frequency?!?!
Mr. Squab: Try AM.
The Hatchling: WAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Squab (tries AM): It’s too quiet, it won’t turn up loud enough. (tries FM again, gets station with mostly static and decides it will have to do. Cranks it.)
The Hatchling: WAAAaaaaahhhhhzzzzzzzzzzz …
Mr. Squab (slowly puts Hatchling in crib. She stays quiet. Squab and Mr. Squab turn off the radio and sloooooooowly back away.)
*** Forty-five minutes pass ***
The Hatchling: WAAAAAAAAAAH!
(Repeat, ad infinitum)
