why does nobody like my Sesame Street spec script?
HARRY: Bob isn't going to like it, your being here.

ERNIE: You saying I should leave?

HARRY: Did I say you should leave? Did I make a prescriptive statement? I did not, sir. I made a statement about what Bob won't like. I graced you with a little of my furry blue insight.

ERNIE: It sounded like a threat.

HARRY: You've got a guilty conscience.

THE COUNT appears behind the bar. He speaks with an Eastern European accent, and his eyes are cold and dead.

COUNT: What'll it be?

ERNIE slaps a fifty dollar bill on the bar.

ERNIE: Glass of milk.

COUNT: Just one?

ERNIE: Don't start with me. [He turns to HARRY.] They still call this place Hooper's? The old man's been dead... what, twenty-five years?

HARRY: Bob keeps it just the same.

HARRY motions to a trio of old men playing cards in the corner booth.

HARRY: They like it that way. Same signs, same menus. Abierto and cerrado at the same times. They come to talk old times, smile at Bob, learn how to say "butterfly" in sign language. It's called atmosphere.

THE COUNT places a glass of milk before ERNIE, and slaps down a wad of bills, chuckling.

COUNT: Forty-eight! Forty-eight dollars on the...

ERNIE: I heard you the first time.

HARRY: You show that kind of cash, Bob's going to hear about it for sure.

ERNIE: That's the idea.

HARRY: Not that it's any concern of mine...

ERNIE: It isn't.

HARRY: But this isn't about your old roommate, is it?

ERNIE is silent. HARRY shakes his head and laughs.

HARRY: He was always the smart one, that's for sure. Too smart for this. You think he'd be here for you? Shit, man. He wasn't sentimental like that. He'd adopt a couple more pigeons and call it even.

BOB has slipped behind ERNIE. He has one hand in a pocket, and places the other on ERNIE's shoulder.

BOB: It's been a long time, E.

ERNIE: Eight years, three months and fifteen days.

BOB: Put down the duckie, and let me buy you a drink.