My God—his back!
JONATHAN
My back's broken, Hank.
HANK
Listen, he's saying my name. We wuz pals, sure nuff.
JONATHAN
My back's broken, Hank.
[The curtain has risen unnoticed.
A faint light that grows steadily brighter as light does when one comes out of a swoon discloses Jonathan and Hank seated on a log at the left of the stage, where the bench had been. Jonathan seems much older, and he is crooked and dirty and unkempt, and Hank is somewhat brutalised, less negative.
JONATHAN