A few days later.
C: Interweb!? (echo in the valley)
C: Internet!? (echo in the valley)
C: World wide web!? (On his knees. Echo in the valley)
C: Sorry I left without a word...I was hoping you'd follow me here. (Tearing up) O, God! (Groaning incoherently) My dear, dear Interweb. Will I never see you again!?
Camerón's words echo throughout the valley in which Patate sits. He collapses to the street, a bottle of wine in his hand. The only sounds to be heard are those of the packs of stray dogs perusing the towns' garbage bags for meat scraps, an activity which has and will continue to reward them handsomely day after day in the sleepy (or drunk) town of Patate.