Romantic Getaways
Paradise Mislaid
Wilson! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Wilson! Wilson!!!
The Scene:
A tropical island the size of a tennis court. The tide laps at white sands littered with debris from a shipwreck.
Adam and Eve (no relation) sit beside a small lean-to, scanning the horizon. Adam puts his arm around Eve, but she shrugs him off.
EVE: Do you mind if we just sit here?
ADAM: No. Sure. That’s fine. Is something the matter?
EVE: I don’t know… It’s just that… This isn’t fun anymore.
ADAM: What isn’t fun anymore?
EVE: This. Whatever it is. You. Me. Us. We never even laugh.
ADAM: Well, we’ve both been under a lot of stress lately.
EVE: It isn’t that. There’s just no chemistry between us. No spark. No magic.
ADAM: You want magic? I know magic. Pick a number between one and ten. Go ahead. This is great.
EVE: Yeah, no. That’s not what I meant. I wish it were that simple.
ADAM: It doesn’t get much simpler than this. No work, no phones, no bills. Nothing but sand, surf, you, me.
