‘Hayley? What are you doing?’
‘Seriously? What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing. I’m gone. I’m out of here.’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘You never do. I’ve had it. I’m finished. I’m sick of trying to be who you want me to be. I want to be me. I want to be myself. I’m done pretending to hate the things you hate.’
‘What…?’
‘I love Bob Dylan. He is so not a pretentious git and his voice is not way too whiney to listen to. He’s a genius! A Goddamn bloody genius!’
‘Okay…’
‘And Lars Von Trier isn’t completely unwatchable!’
‘He is though…’
‘Ahhhhhh!!!! Stop. It doesn’t matter. We’re done. I want to be able to like the things I like. I want to be able to hate the things you like.’
‘What…’
‘Leonard Cohen. Oh! My! God! Do I hate him!’
‘But…’
‘I don’t care what I might have said to keep you happy. I hate him! Hate! Hate! Hate!’
‘Come on…’
‘He’s awful. Music to slit your wrists by! If anyone ever plays Famous Blue Raincoat in my presence again… I swear to God they’ll regret it, I will kill them stone dead! Goodbye!’