“What do you want from me?” Leighton appears to be asking.
“I’ve spent the last five years trapped in the Groundhog Day of TV storylines. I had to act like I was in love with Penn Badgley while he wore Helena Bonham Carter on his head. So maybe I need to decompress by wearing a t-shirt imprinted with a ski map of the Swiss Alps, and a half-Zbornak sweat-vest, and a dinner napkin that I stapled in the middle to make horts. And maybe I need to put it with lipstick that looks like a toddler who just ate some Crayola 64 and some shoes that are cute but also so uninspired with this whole blah outfit that it looks like I threw it together while I was in a comatose state and somebody spent three hours yodeling the Flashdance soundtrack to my sleeping body. WALK A MILE IN MY CUTE BUT UNINSPIRING SHOES AND THEN WE WILL TALK. Now, does anyone have some clippers? I need to get to Penn before the chloroform wears off.”