written by D.V. DeVincentis, Steve Pink, John Cusack, & Scott Rosenberg, from the novel by Nick Hornby
Rob: What fucking Ian guy? Laura doesn't know anybody called Ian. There's no Ian in her office. She has no friends called Ian! I'm almost certain she has never met anyone named Ian in her entire life. She lives in an --"Ian-less" universe. (something dawns on him and he picks up a letter discarded on a table) "I. Raymond" Ray. "I." Ian. (crumples it) Mr. I. Raymond. "Ray" to his friends and more importantly, to his neighbor. The guy who, until about six weeks ago, lived upstairs. I start to remember things about him now. His horrible clothes and hair. His music: Latin and Bulgarian, whatever world music was trendy that week. He had rings on his fingers. Awful cooking smells. I never liked him much then, and I fuckin' hate him now. (not able to sleep, crying a little) We used to listen to him having sex. Upstairs. (we see Rob's nightmare: Ian and Laura having wild crazy sex, and we hear them as well) You are as abandoned and noisy as any character in a porn film, Laura. You are Ian's plaything, responding to his touch with shrieks of orgasmic delight. No woman in the history of the world is having better sex than the sex you are having with Ian in my head.
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