(CUTTO: Poison Ivy’s apartment in Queens. Ivy sits on her couch enslaved to her creatures of comfort: An oversized ANNIVERSARY ’99 t-shirt that was once white, but now’s taken on the personality of its owner. Worn on the edges, off-colored, but quietly radiant with a beauty and comfort damn hard to find elsewhere. Ivy pushes her rimmed glasses back up against the bridge of her nose with her left index finger and smiles in amazement.)

(CUTTO: On the television…)

(For the eleventh time in PRIMETIME history, (trust us, we know), Lights flicker! Part of the crowd screams.)

(CUTTO: As the lights come back up, the camera zooms in on Dan Ryan on the mat, blood streaming from a wound in his forehead. He’s conscious, but stunned. As the camera pulls back, Hornet stands on camera-side left, still with the branding iron in hand…and on the right…)

BB and SB: MARK WINDHAM!?

IVY: (laughing) You’re not going to believe this.

V/O: (Man’s voice) I don’t understand how you drink this crap.

(CUTTO: The television again….)

BB: Mark charges! HE JUST HIT HORNET! HE JUST BUSTED HORNET OPEN WITH THAT BRANDING IRON! GOOD LORD NO!

SB: YES! YES! DREAMS REALLY DO COME TRUE… AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO DEAL WITH THOSE ANIMATRONIC BEARS! PRIMETIME MOMENTS! PRIMETIME MOMENTS!

BB: Hornet dropped like a ton of bricks came down on him, and he’s bleeding severely from his forehead! Timmy Windham backs up against the ropes… he jumps to the second rope and then jumps straight down onto Hornet’s chest… he calls that “THE CLEAR!”

SB: ONE…TWO…THREE… CLEAR!

(A man walks into view holding a steaming mug of coffee. He trips gently, enabling a small measure of coffee to burn his right hand.)

MAN: Awwwwwwww....

IVY: Easy, grace.

(He sits down beside her as she mercifully takes the mug from his grip.)

IVY: Have trouble finding the place?

MAN: It’s a war zone in there. You’re lucky I’m in one piece.

(Ivy sips, amused by the TV.)

IVY: Look at that! (head back laughing)

(He stares at her, caring less about the program that’s the source of her amusement.)

MAN: Ivy...

IVY: Ssh, it’s----

(He grabs the remote off her lap and shuts the TV off.)

MAN: Turn that crap off.

(Ivy looks at him skeptically, her glasses freely sliding back down her nose. She allows herself a half-smile as he leans in. Cupping the back of her neck with one hand, she shifts her head slightly to kiss him.)

MAN: (Two inches from her face, smiling) It’s over.

(Fade to black)