A LOVELY STRETCH OF BEACH. A PAINTER PAINTS ON THE BLUFFS OVERLOOKING THE SAND AND WATER. A GRIFTER JOINS THEM.
GRIFTER: What is this you’re doing?
PAINTER: (GESTURES) I’m painting that couple having sex on the sand over there.
GRIFTER: (LOOKS, SEES) Ah, to be in love again. Do you do this often?
PAINTER: What, paint strangers’ public sexual exploits from a relatively safe distance?
PAINTER: I get around.
GRIFTER: Mmm, I thought you might. Now, Mr. Willoughby…
PAINTER: I’m sorry. Do we know each other?
GRIFTER: No, no. I just follow you around for hours, even days at a time, listening in on your most private moments until I’ve gathered enough personal data on you so as to feel comfortable acting familiar.
GRIFTER: Is it?
PAINTER: Yes, because my name isn’t Willoughby.
GRIFTER: Are you sure?
PAINTER: (CONSIDERS THIS) Pretty sure.
GRIFTER: Well, do you mind if I call you “Mr. Willoughby””
PAINTER: I’d prefer you call me by my real name… but, sure, go right on ahead.
GRIFTER: Wonderful. Mr. Willoughby, would you like to start a business together?
PAINTER: A business?
GRIFTER: Yes, a business.
PAINTER: A business, you say…
GRIFTER: I do.
PAINTER: What would I have to do?
GRIFTER: You make your sexually depraved art, of course.
PAINTER: And you?
GRIFTER: And I make the money.
PAINTER: Yes, but what exactly would you do to make us money?
GRIFTER: (LAUGHS PSYCHOTICALLY, POSSIBLY FOR TOO LONG) That’s not important right now, Mr. Willoughby.
PAINTER: Seems like it might be a bit important, actually.
GRIFTER: Let’s agree that you’re wrong, hmm?
PAINTER: Oh, alright.
GRIFTER: Good, good. Now, what is important is that we get you right to work.
PAINTER: (PUZZLES THIS) But I am working?
GRIFTER: You call this work?
GRIFTER: Don’t be daft. You’re hardly doing what I’d call work. Have you even turned a profit since we started talking, you lazy little bastard?
PAINTER: Well, no. But I’ve hardly had time to paint since you started talking to me.
GRIFTER: Oh, making excuses already, are we? Blaming others for your financial shortsightedness, hmm? You’ll never get ahead in this market with an attitude like that.
PAINTER: I don’t know what to say.
GRIFTER: What, no witty retort? No sarcastic jab directed at the shallow, half-formed attempts of grifters such as myself to take advantage of desperate, talented artists?
GRIFTER: Why not?
GRIFTER: I would hope so, yes.
PAINTER: I couldn’t think of any way to properly end this sketch.
GRIFTER: You’re kidding.
PAINTER: I wish I was.
GRIFTER SMASHES THE PAINTING, WALKS AWAY.
PAINTER: (TO AUDIENCE) I suppose that works, don’t you?