We brought you this little housewarming gift. [Gives Mrs. Connelly a bottle of wine]
Oh, that's very kind of you, thank you. I'll open it for you. I don't drink myself, it's a sin.
Sit down, dears, sit down! I brought ya a little something to nibble on as well.
Oh, Bugles. Wow, I didn't realize they even still made Bugles.
[Offering Alex a Bugle dipped in French onion dip]
Come along, dear, it's French onion.
[Alex nibbles it while looking at the box of Bugles. The expiary date reads 'October 1997']
Magnificent parrot.
It's not a parrot, dear. He's a macaw. He's named after my late husband, Richard. I've had Little Dick for forty years.
Alex is a writer.
Oh, a writer. I always thought of that as more of a hobby than a real job. I suppose I'm forgettin' about Joyce.
Joyce, James Joyce, of course. Wonderful writer.
He died drunk and penniless.
Well, Alex's first novel was published in hardback, and he's just about to finish his second one.
Oh, what's it about?
Well, I like to call it an urban epic. It's about three generations of this family in New York that own a printing press, and I tell a story mainly about...
[Bored, cutting him off]
Oh, that's nice. Let me give you a refill. Big Dick had the taste, too. He was a seaman. The drink took him from me in 1963. We'd been married for 58 years.
[Nancy counts silently]
