John Brightman: Excuse me. Martina McRibe? Your beautiful. But, can I talk to you?
Martina McRibe: Nobody owns the sidewalks. Course you can.
John Brightman: I'm ugly and you are beautiful. Looking in the headlines, the talk is, you and I have this thing going on.
Martina McRibe: Oh no, you are not ugly. You are a decent handsome fella. Not that rumor, it isn't true. Why will anyone think that?
John Brightman: I don't know. I mean here you are as my girlfriend, but, I don't ever remember asking you out.
Martina McRibe: We never even talked. Until now.
John Brightman: Right.
Martina McRibe: Oh my. I can't believe how easy it is to take the people for a ride with a falsive accusation.
John Brightman: I know, right....
Martina McRibe: .....
John Brightman: You know, now that I think about it, you are beautiful. I just never thought about it. But now I did.
Martina McRibe: Me to. Now that I think about it, your kind of handsome.
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That was a fiction play.
Let the message be clear. Here is a sollution, don't be a problem. And if the good advise doesn't heed enough, re-read the fiction play over shall we...
