INT. NIGHT. KITCHEN
Darkness. Silence. Yoram opens the refrigerator door, and a pale yellow light spills onto his face. His hand rests on the refrigerator door. Inside, the large fridge is empty except for a partial pack of margarine, a bag of milk, and a slice of five percent cheese peeking through. A soft murmur is heard behind him, and his wife Iris slips in. The kitchen light switches on, and Iris stands behind him, crossing her arms in a defensive manner, conveying that she is there to support him, not to attack.
IRIS (softly)
What's going on, Yoram?
Yoram is defeated. He collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. His elbows rest on the table, and he clasps both sides of his head with his hands.
YORAM (in a choked voice)
No luck. I went to the agency again, to see if they have work for me. I tried several places and even visited the workforce marketplace, but no one seems to need someone like me. (Bitterness seeps into his voice) Then I went to the beach. (Pause) I needed to unwind. (Pause) I wandered there until evening.
Iris tries to be as gentle as possible, avoiding panic.
IRIS
Yoram, you know that we have to pay the mortgage on the first of the month, right? The new school year is approaching, and I haven't bought the kids their notebooks and supplies yet. Fortunately, I haven't issued any checks.