(The stage lights come up. TOM stands on the left with a guitar, looking earnest and slightly confused. DICK stands on the right, upright and professional, holding a bass.) DICK: Good evening, everyone. We’d like to perform a very serious, very moving folk song about the changing of the seasons. TOM: (Nods vigorously) It’s a very deep song. It’s got layers. Like a big onion. Or a very thick sweater. DICK: (Ignoring him) It’s called "The Golden Leaf of Autumn." A-one, a-two... The Song (DICK begins a steady, rhythmic folk pluck on the bass. TOM starts strumming a bright G-major chord.) DICK: (Singing in a rich baritone) The golden leaf fell from the bough, To rest upon the frozen plow... TOM: (Singing high, slightly off-key) And then a squirrel came along, And sang a tiny squirrel song! DICK: (Stops playing) Tom, what are you doing? TOM: I’m helping. I’m the harmony. And I added a squirrel. People like squirrels, Dick. They’re nature’s... little... fuzzy guys. DICK: There is no squirrel in this song. This is a song of melancholy. It’s about the passage of time. It’s poetic. TOM: Well, my squirrel is poetic! He’s looking for a nut! That’s a metaphor for... life. Or breakfast. DICK: (Sighs) Just play the chords. No squirrels. From the top. (They start again) DICK: The wind it whistles through the grain, To herald in the winter rain... TOM: (Singing loudly) BUT MOM ALWAYS LIKED YOU BEST! DICK: (Stops immediately) What does that have to do with the rain?! TOM: (Face scrunched up, looking like he’s about to cry) Nothing! But it’s true! You’re standing there with your big bass and your "heralds" and your "grains," and Mom gave you the good mittens! I had to wear socks on my hands, Dick! Socks! DICK: Tom, we are in the middle of a performance! We are professionals! Now, please, can we just finish the verse? TOM: (Pouting) Fine. But I’m not happy. My hands are still cold from 1954. DICK: (Resumes playing) The frost is creeping ‘cross the glass, As all the summer hours pass... TOM: (Singing sweetly) And though the world is turning cold, And we are growing gray and old... I’ll always have my brother here... DICK: (Smiling, touched) That’s very nice, Tom. TOM: (Shouting) TO BUY ME A ROOT BEER! DICK: (Slaps his forehead) Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen. TOM: (Waving frantically) I want a frosty mug, Dick! Mom said you had to share your allowance!