[ Barry accepts the pen with a grateful smile in return, sitting down and opening his own notebook across his lap. He flips past pages filled top to bottom with uneven script and odd sketches to reach one that's filled a third of the way with words before it descends into frustrated scribbles from a dying -- then dead -- pen. ]

Thanks miss, I-I appreciate it. A-and I'll give it back. Usually I'm never caught without a working pen, but this whole -- the relocation thing, you know, I always thought I'd be more prepared but it's just when you're down to your last pen and no chance to pack any more th-that they get you. No notice, right? Unless maybe you got some, I don't know, but then I'd have to write that down. Who knows, any differences m-might be important.

[ He finally pauses, though not for a breath -- rather to burst into a few moments of energetic writing, pouring forth onto the page whatever he was unable to get down before when his other pen ran out of ink.

Finally he stops, exhaling in relief and passing her the pen back with a nod. ]

I write down everything that happens to me, or that I think happens to me, that way I always got a record to refer back to in case I forget something. You should give it a try, it's real calming.