RICK & ZUP un-ass Madrid, Spain, the whole shootin’ match …

RICK, ZUP UNASS MADRID, SPAIN AND THE WHOLE SHOOTING MATCH

RICK drives 3 hours from Oviedo down to Madrid to retrieve ZUP, arrives 3am at the Hotel Florida.

RICK

Zup. Wake up. Wake up. Zup, wake the fuck up, you stupid Belgian fuck.

ZUP

Ay! Qu’est-ce que c’est!

Oh. Hein! Come back during visiting hours.

RICK

Zup, it’s me, Rick.

ZUP

Rick, ah, it’s good to see you, ugliest hedgehog ever made.

RICK

Get up, pretty-boy. Here’s your slippers and robe. We have somewhere to be.

ZUP

Here in the hotel?

RICK

No, we’re going to Asturias to get your plane.

ZUP

I have a newspaper deadline at 7am.

RICK

And you’re still drunk, you Danish lush.

ZUP

Yes, but I’ll be sober in the morning, and you will still be the most unpleasant copilot ever.

If we’re going to see the Basque then I’ll need my cravat & ascot, you swine.

Day after this war, sir, we’re enrolling you in the strictest motherly-superior finishing school this side of the Bosporous.

RICK

Uh-huh. Just keep moving. Here’s a smoke.

ZUP

Take this box.

RICK

What’s in it?

ZUP

Les pamplemousses, you cur.

RICK lifts box top

RICK

Oh, grapefruits. Who are these for?

ZUP

Bribing local officials. Getting local pussy.

RICK and ZUP carry box full of grapefruit and coffee silver-bullet stolen from buffet table to Rick’s truck. Truck’s tubercular engine starts up with much complaint. Sounds like it shit its pants. They head north on Highway 555. ZUP’s head nods, he snores before they get out of the plaza and drools steadily all the way up to coal country.

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