Harry sat at the kitchen table, tapping his finger on the notebook. He looked over their expenses, noticing that they had enough for maybe one or two more weeks here, and a trip back to Chicago; but that was it. He sighed, and rubbed his head. He knew it was all because of his mistake that they were stuck out here. Would he ever admit it out loud? Of course not. He still blamed the kid for much of his misfortune, but deep down, regret lingered.

Marv was over at the open window, smoking.

"Another month here, I might blow my brains out," Marv said.

"You and me both," Harry agreed, closing his notebook. "Where are we going to go?"

"We could go back to New York City," Marv suggested. "Go back to the townhouse. At least we would be in the city."

A silence persisted in the kitchen.

"What are we doing?" Harry muttered.

"Huh?"

"We've got no plan, Marv," Harry looked directly at his partner. "What are we gonna do?"

"I think the city is our best-"

"Not with where we're gonna move," Harry resisted an eye roll. "What are we gonna do with-" Harry motioned to the bedrooms.

"Oh," Marv said.

"We can't be hermits our whole life."

Marv smoked again. "We just keep doing what we're doing. I guess…"

"What about in a year from now?" Harry more so stated than asked. "Or in five years? In ten years? In ten years, he'll practically be grown."

Marv shook his head, "I didn't think of that."

"Of course you-" Harry cut his insult short. "And then what will we be?"

"Old men," Marv laughed. "Or… you will be. Ten years from now, I'll be 43. That's not exactly old."

"This is serious," Harry stood up, and walked closer to Marv. "Are we just going, I don't know, play house?"

Marv frowned. "We don't really have a choice, do we?"

Harry couldn't think of a rebuttal. And just then- a bang erupted in the house. The front door had been opened – no, not open – busted down. Marv and Harry looked at each other. Marv raced down the bedroom hall, as Harry dived for his gun, and then backed into the corner.