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CONCHATA
What's that?
WALLACE
Merely a statement of fact.
He postures in his chair. Or tries. Or seems about to. It's impossible to tell for sure. He winds up crossing one ankle over the opposite knee.
CONCHATA
Been shopping?
Pause. Their eyes lock.
WALLACE
This is my wig.
CONCHATA
I see! Well then!
A short, violent struggle ensues by which Wallace succeeds in keeping the hair off his head. He compromises by wrapping it around one fist and dandling it on one knee like the remains of a Yorkie; detangling loose strands.