I like this show

Two people sit silently in their living room, on a Friday afternoon. It is a little past four and the weather is lousy—rainy and cold.
The first person, a man, sits in a chair, staring at the big-faced clock that hangs on a wall in the kitchen. The second, a woman, files her nails and crosses her legs together tightly. The man speaks first.
What time are you expecting 'em, honey?
The woman answers casually.
Well, I don't know dear. Anytime really.
The man continues to stare at the clock. The woman stops filing her red, callused hands and glances over at him. The man looks back at her and shakes his head.
Maybe I should give 'em a call. You know, just to make sure they aren't lost or in an accident.
The woman reaches to her left, picks up the brown telephone seated next to her and hands it to the man, before returning to her nail file. The man grabs it and begins to dial.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
There's no answer. the man says, hanging up.
You were barely on the line. the woman says.
Okay, I’ll call again. he says, redialing.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
Nothing, the man says, looking back at the clock.
The woman gets up and goes to the man.
I'm making myself a drink. Want one?
I suppose.
The woman walks to the large cabinet nested in a back corner of the room. She opens a bottle of vodka and pours it into two glasses. She takes a glass to the man, and one back to her seat. She lights a cigarette and moves an ashtray to the coffee table in front of her.
Maybe I should give them a try. she says, setting the cigarette down in the ashtray.
Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.
No answer. I hope they're all right.
The woman retrieves her cigarette and finishes it, while sipping her vodka.
Would you like me to turn on the television? the woman says.
I don't see why not. says the man.
Now, the room floods with sounds of cheering strangers.
I like this show. the woman says.
Me too. the man says.
Ring. Ring. the telephone rings.
Hello? says the woman.