A round theatre.
All is dark. Very dim blues come up revealing a person sitting center, in deep meditation. A rope dangles from the ceiling. A candle next to them suddenly ignites. The person notices the interruption and quickly blows it out. Goes back to meditating. Another candle on the opposite side of them ignites. Again distracted, they dispatch the candle straight. Two more candles ignite. Slightly stunned, the person blows them out. Three candles ignite. Almost immediately, they are blown out. Two candles ignite. The person blows out one and before they can blow out the second, the first one reignites. They blow it out, frustrated. Stillness. As soon as they close their eyes and settle, four candles ignite. Exhausted, the person pulls on the dangling rope. A cascade of water rains down upon the stage, soaking everything and extinguishing all candles. The person takes a deep breath and finally finding peace, they close their eyes and god back into deep meditation. After a moment of focused silence... ALL CANDLES IGNITE. The person opens their eyes. Swallows frustration. At a complete lost, they close their eyes and go back to meditation. Blackout. END
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Cast of Characters
GAMER - A teenager obsessed with video games, they are his escape HENCHMEN - Criminals/thugs/no-gooders in the game, intent on causing harm to Gamer VOICEOVER - The voice of the game. Game narrator Note: There are two playing spaces. The first is the reclining chair which is located in the Gamer's room. The second is the Game Stage, where he resides while inside the game. Lights up. GAMER sits in his old, beaten recliner: His Gamin' Chair. The chair has been intimate with his posterior for many moons (no pun intended), and has the grooves that fit only his curves. He sits with a controller in his hand. He presses the "start" button. Blue light from the 42" LED television illuminates his face. 8-bit '80s game music fills the space. The game has been unpaused. He furiously mashes the buttons, throwing joysticks back and forth, left and right. WE HEAR: Sounds of fighting, impact punches, sword cutting, blades clanking and manly manly grunts. Suddenly, the "your character just died and your game is over" music strike up and peter out. G. No, no, no! Come on! (Throwing the controller down) So close, man! Did you see that? I was pwning that time! Then I lost it. I've been stuck on this level forever. I've been stuck on this same level now for (checking screen) two hours nine minutes and forty-three seconds...and I'm not keeping track the game automatically tracks it and tells you how long you've been playing every time you do a save. So far I've logged over seventeen hours on this game, battling thru level after level and they just increase in difficulty and I keep telling myself, I must be getting close to the end of the game, this must be the last level. I'm now on level eighty...that's right eight...zero. Who'd guess there'd be eighty levels in this game? You figure games now days you spend sixty bucks, you beat the game in six hours, so you're essentially paying ten bucks an hour and you beat it, then you're done with it. But not this one, oh no. This one well...it's part brawler, part platformer and well...it's kind of like this. GAMER presses the "start" button. The game resets. Lights goes dark on GAMER and shift to a downstage area. There, we find GAMER, dressed like a badass. The game music jumps back to life. We are in the game. G. So pretty much, you run through levels collecting spare junk parts when you come across them (he comes across a garbage can and flips it over with one powerful swoop of his man claw. Our pours a few random junk parts and electronics), you'll need 'em later to build stuff. And your goal is fight your way to the thru all the henchmen to get to top of some silly plot featuring a thug in a high position of power or something like that. The point is, you go thru hours of beating guys to a pulp, collecting junk to build powerful weapons and getting to the top of this skyscraper. I'm in the lobby. Ground floor. (picking up an old baseball bat) Batter up! Henchmen come from everywhere! They attack. He fights. 8-Bit music blares. He smacks one down. Another grabs him from behind while another punches him in the stomach. He kicks that one with a powerful kick. A special "power up bonus" sound. G. Yes! Special combo time! GAMER does a series of hits, kicks, and moves to take down many opponents. No one is left standing. G. Yes! Pwnage! See, that is how you do it. One henchman sneaks in, unnoticed, wielding a sword. G. And then I get to this point and-- Henchman impales him with the sword. GAMER groans and falls to the ground. "Game Over" music. Lights shifts. GAMER back in the recliner. G. And that's how it goes. So close, yet so far. And here I am...two hours, twelve minutes and fifteen seconds into this level...starting over yet again. Did I mention how much I hate video games? I love them but I hate them. They are like my escape from the real world. The real world sucks. Seriously. And games allow me to do things, incredible things...observe. Lights shift to Game Stage. GAMER is holding a henchman by the neck. He snaps his neck like a carrot. Henchman's body crumples to the ground. Lights shift. GAMER back at the recliner. G. See that? I snapped his neck like a toothpick. I can do that. Some days I can't stand waking up and going to school. As soon as I walk through those front doors, I can feel this dark cloud completely cover me. It's not...fair. They choose me. Out of everyone in the school, they choose me. Bobby Shenken, he can pretty much tell you any prime number that has ever existed or will ever exist off the top of his head. And Mindy, she'll tell you about the mating rituals of any mammal in existence. The dolphin, penguin, giraffe, the bonobo--she'll tell you, whether you want to hear it or not. But, they choose me. I don't talk back. I don't hit back. They say if you don't acknowledge it, if you just ignore it, eventually, they'll stop. It's been three years, one-hundred eighty-seven days and everyday of my life is worse than the day before it. I've started putting my money in my socks. That's the one place they don't look--they won't touch. I've got thru so many bags of frozen peas, when my mom tries to cook 'em for dinner, I throw up. But I don't talk back. I don't hit back. I just take it, hoping that one day, they'll get bored and move on. That's why I love video games....'cause I can do this.... Lights shift to Game Stage. GAMER, looking badass, surrounded by three henchmen. 8-bit music plays as he proceeds to beat the hell out of all of them, using various strikes to the testicles. Each time a henchman goes down, they get right back up and assume that neutral unnaturally looped bouncing pose that video game characters seem to adopt when a player is inactive. GAMER continues to strike away. This goes from being funny, to not funny and uncomfortable, and then back to fucking hilarious. G. Take that! And that! Hiii-YA! Waaaah! VOICEOVER. FINISH THEM! GAMER does some super extravagant fight choreography and takes them all out. He strikes a triumphant pose. "Winning 8-bit music." Music stops. Lights shift back to GAMER in recliner. Music stops. G. Humans are full of bloodlust. Violence is as natural to mankind as anything else on Maslow's Hierarchy, just look at the Romans. They would capture and import exotic animals from other countries then they'd fill entire arenas with people and cheer on as a man would fight a tiger to the death. They even fought each other those gladiators did. And people cheered! I don't think those guys at school stop because it's just in them. It's nature. It's in all of us. But we can't pit people against each other or against wild animals anymore so we find other ways of taming the bloodlust. Like so... Light shift the Game Stage. 8-bit music. GAMER runs a henchman thru repeatedly with a sword. Blood is everywhere. The GAMER is covered in blood. Triumphant pose. Music ends. Lights shift back to recliner and GAMER, still covered in blood. G. That feels SO good! It's like making up for all the stolen money, all the black eyes, the dislocated finger, the snickers, the incompetence of the teachers, those smug grins on their stupid faces!...But no matter how many nameless henchmen I kill, I can never get to the boss, because when I get to this level (he's playing the game with his controller. 8-bit music. Fight sounds. "Game Over" music) I BLOW it! I BLOW IT! I BLOW IT! This stupid thing. This stupid FUCKING game! He throws the controller to the floor. VOICEOVER. GAME OVER. PRESS START TO CONTINUE. TEN. NINE. EIGHT. SEVEN... G. Two hours twenty minutes, and twenty-eight seconds... VOICEOVER. SIX. FIVE... G. Screw it. VOICEOVER. FOUR... The GAMER looks at the controller then looks back at the tv, panting. VOICEOVER. THREE. TWO. Blackout. END OF PLAY A-Ur gaze speaks volumes.
B-Ur touch spills secrets. A-Ur silence is overwhelming. B-Ur scent makes me drunk. A-Drink up. B-Cheers. Two people stand, gazing at a map, completely lost.
A. Do you know where we are? B. I think we want to go that way. A. That's nice, but do you know where we are? B. Kind of. A. Kind of? You either know where we are or you don't. B. I'm sorry, do you know where we are? A. No, that's why I'm asking you. B. Oh, well then, maybe you shouldn't sass the person you're asking for directions from. I really think we should head that way. A. Why is that? Does the map tell you this? B. Yes. The map tells me many things. A. Like what? B. Like....How far apart I have to spread my fingers to reach a kilometer. A. ... B. And that we are North of the equator. A. That's good and all, but why does that mean we should go that way? B. Just trust me. A. Trust you? You're the one who got us lost in the first place. B. What? A. Yes. B. No. A. YES. B. NO. A. Yes, you did--you said it was this way! You swore up and down. I asked if you were sure, you said, "Am I sure, you said is the largest prime number 257,885,161 − 1?" Remember that? B. Yes, I do. I also remember you not having an answer for the question posed. A. Great. Can you get us out of here or not? B. (looking at the map) No. A. No? B. No. A. And why not? B. This map only tells you where you've been. A. What kind of map is that? B. Not a very helpful one, I'm afraid. A. How are we supposed to get to where we're going? B shrugs. B. Just keep walking? A. Which direction!?! B. (seemingly at random) Mmmmm, that way! A. What if we walk into danger, run across a herd of vicious elk or something? Get torn to bits? B. It'll be a fun story! A. Who's going to be left to tell it if we're dead? B. That's a good question. The universe'll find a way, a good story never goes to waste. Let's go. A. You don't have the foggiest idea of where we're headed, do you? B. No. Do you? A. No. Where are we headed, anyway? B. You know, I don't remember. Beat. A. Let's get going. B. Right-o! END OF PLAY "Whether you broke or rich, you gotta get biz
Havin' money's not everything, not havin' it is" --Kanye West Street corner. VAGRANT MAN stands on the corner, looking not-to-homeless and fairly well-dressed, except for the occasional scuff mark or stain or hole. He holds a sign reading, "Food and shelter and friends is all nice, but a couple bucks in my pocket'll bring the sunshine." Throughout this piece, people walk down the street minding their own business, on their way to work or just getting off, enjoying the weather, eating a nice lunch, lazying about, but they are all trying to get somewhere. or rather, have someplace to be. They may interact with the VAGRANT MAN or they may not. They may drop a few bucks into the half-chopped up Mountain Dew two-liter at his side, they may drop a few cents, they may drop nothing. VM. Spare cash, spare cash!?! People walk by. VM. Spare cash? One person offers a sandwich. VM. Cash? Spare cash? The person, offended, takes sandwich back and walks off. VM. Spare cash!?! Another person approaches. PERSON. (setting down a bottle of water) Here you go! I know it's not money, but it'll keep you hydrate-- VM. (ignoring them and moving on) Spare cash!?! Spare cash? Person leaves. More people walk by. A man stops and approaches. MAN. Excuse me! I'm actually looking for some help remodeling my living room. If you'd be interested in helping, I'd surely put you up for a few weeks and feed yo-- VM. (directly in the MAN's face) SPARE CASH! SPARE CASH!?! MAN. (startled) Okay! Jesus, forget it! I'm sorry! MAN leaves. VM. Spare cash? Spare Cash? Spare cash, spare cash! People walk by, actively trying to avoid his gaze and his words. VM. Spare cash? Spare cash! Spare cash!?! A RICH MAN enters. Sees the VAGRANT MAN and approaches with confidence. RICH MAN. My good sir, I see that you are in dire need of some spare cash. Our meeting is most fortuitous as I just so happen to have a little extra cash to spare. (pulling wad of cash out of wallet) Here is a healthy sum of spare cash, my good man. I hope it quiets your belly's howling, that it soothes your dry throat. May it shield you from harm and unfriendly weather. I hope that it patches your holes, bleaches your stains, and pads and comforts your feet. (handing over cash) May you live happy, my good sir. Peace be with you. RICH MAN exits. VAGRANT MAN take a moment to look at the cash. He does a quick count. He's filled with joy and is for a while, speechless. He hugs the money and twirls delicately. After his celebration finishes, he places the cash into the Mountain Dew two-liter. He then picks back up his sign as people still pass. VM. Spare cash, spare cash? Spare cash! People pass, oblivious. VM. Spare cash!?! Spare cash? SPARE CASH!?! END OF PLAY A storefront display. A mannequin woman stands on display behind a glass window. She is unconventional in manner and stature, whatever that means. Could be overweight, could have a missing limb, could have a deformity, could be misshapen, could have a penis, the point is not so much what she looks like, but rather that she differs from the "norm." She is completely expressionless. She is solid white except for a heart-shaped implant protruding slightly out of her chest--it glows intensely.
A passerby flies by the mannequin without noticing her. Her heart dims a bit. Another passerby, slows down, glances. Her heart grows a little brighter. Passerby continues on, business as usual. Her heart flickers. Eventually gets back to homeostasis. Another passerby. They stop. They closely examine the mannequin with a kind of gentle curiosity. Her heart burns bright. Passerby discovers something unpleasant. Becomes disgusted. Rushes off. The mannequin stands alone... ...for a few quick moments. Another passerby. The mannequin's heart takes initiative, setting a blinding light loose. Too much. The passerby is startled, frightened and runs off back from where they came. The mannequin's heart goes dull, almost to the point of going dark. Another passerby. They stop. They are captivated by the mannequin, taking all the time in the world to marvel, examine, interact. Her heart arises from the dead and rages on, burning brighter than ever--almost pulsing with a palpable energy and light--you can almost hear a hum song. The passerby's attention is pulled away by something unseen. They look back to mannequin, then back to the unseen force, seemingly caught in struggle. They get as close to the mannequin as they can, perhaps even pressed up against the glass window. Something jerks them away. They are both literally and figuratively pulled off the window and away from the mannequin. Trying to fight, the passerby is overcome and eventually shepherded off stage. Whether they leave by choice or by force is up to them. The mannequin stands alone... ...For several Moments. The mannequin's heart dials down to the weakest glimmer. A "Low Battery" beep sounds as the heart begins to flicker in that familiar way. After a few moments of flickering, we hear the "Just about to die" power down sound. The mannequin comes to life, pulls a power cable from their chest and plugs it into a nearby power outlet. Power is restored. "Charging" notification sound is heard. The mannequin returns to her original position and waits... And waits.... And waits... And waits.. And waits. Black out. Heart can still be seen glowing. Full black out. END OF PLAY The next evening. Lights up on dining room table. The table is adorned with a white and yellow bouquet of roses. Husband, Wife, and Betty Sandborn are in the middle of dinner. Betty certainly thinks highly of herself and is not afraid to show it. She is younger than Wife, but has been in the real estate game longer. Even when not working, Betty is dressed to impress: hair, shoes, nails, and business suit. Wife has not been in real estate long and with the techno-centric times, has started to fall behind, while Betty flourishes. Husband and Wife sit quietly, eating their soup while Betty yammers on.
B. And they had the nerve to tell me that Jesus will have come back, died again, and sent a postcard before I could sell that house. And you know just how long it took? They don’t answer. B. Guess! Wife kicks Husband under table. H. Two months! Betty points downward, with a smirk. B. Nope. Guess again. W. One month? Betty shakes her head. B. Twenty-seven days. Can you believe it? Twenty-seven days! Even in a fast market in this recession, thirty days is considered remarkable, but twenty-seven? (to Husband) Our boss, Mr. Randall says it’s a record for this our company. H. That’s great! Wife shoots Husband a dirty look. He goes back to eating. W. Betty, I just don’t know how you do it. I mean, I’ve been with the company a little over three years now, but never have I been able to sell a house in less than a month and a half and that’s in a good market. B. Honestly darling, the market has nothing to do with it. It’s about who you are. You see, the real estate business isn’t really the business of selling property, what it is is...the business of selling yourself. You see, it’s about people. Real Estate has always been a people person business. Clients and customers want to know that you’re in it for them, one-hundred and fifteen percent. W. How do you do that? B. Oh, ask questions! You clients should be doing most of the talking--if you’re talking more than they are, that’s bad! Just ask questions, listen to what they have to say and tailor your search for them. Have you started a Facebook page for yourself as an agent? W. No. B. Oh, darling, you’ve got to get on that! According to realestate.com, eighty-four percent of agents are using some sort of social media to speak to their markets and connect with clients. W. Do you have a Facebook page? B. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, all of it. But you’ve got to be careful. W. Careful of what? B. Well, as I just said a moment ago, the real estate business is a people person business. The social media angle is good, but ultimately, that face-to-face time with the client or customer, that’s what’s going to close for you. W. You think so? B. Yes! How many people are going to make a huge investment on a couple of pictures you put up online? Will say yes to spending hundreds of thousands of dollars without talking in person with professionals who know what they’re looking for? I’ll tell you right now, they can put self-checkout stations in every grocery store in America and self-service may become the most hip, efficient, cool-thing-to-do, most popular thing ever, but when it comes to big stuff...stuff that matters, there are two things that will always remain true, two constants: One, people will always need places to live and two, in the matter of houses, they will always opt for face-to-face. So you don’t have to worry about the clients not being there--they’ll always be there, you just have to make sure that when they show up, you show up, too. But having said all of that, you’ve just got to get on Facebook at the very least! H. How do you start one of those Facebook things? B. They’re free accounts, you just go online and sign up. Make sure to have a bunch of stuff written up, you know bios and mission statement-type stuff. Oh and testimonials! Your last twenty clients! Get testimonials from all of them or at least make their contact available for any clients who look for references. W. I don’t have twenty past clients. B. Oh...what do you have? Hesitation. B. Doesn’t matter. Gather whatever it is that you do have...it’ll help, trust me. H. How many clients have you had, honey? W. I’ve had clients! I can’t recall off the top of my head at the moment, but I’ve had my share. B. Photos! You need photos for your page as well. Call me when you’re ready to get some photos done, I know a great photographer. W. I’ve actually had some photos taken not six months ago. B. Oh…the ones in the brochures? W. Yes. I thought they were quite nice. B. Yes...well...not to sound crude, but you really should think about new pictures. Ones that show off your best side. W. What does that mean? B. It simply means we want you to look your best to the client! Now don’t take offense darling, but remember…”people person business”. I mean that when I say it and unfortunately, looks are part of the equation--the winning equation. I mean history will tell you the same thing. Why do you think John Kerry lost the presidential election? Honestly, I didn’t mind the man, but he looked like one of those Ent tree things from Lord of the Rings, and I swear to you, darling, America just wouldn’t have it. Well, that and the whole flip-flopping thing, but trust me when I say, you could benefit from new photos...and a new wardrobe. I’ll call my guy and set something up. We’ll get you looking proper...something in black, I’m thinking...black is slimming. W. Yes… Husband sips soup loudly. B. Well, I really must thank you again for the dinner invitation, I couldn’t have been more pleased. W. (gritting teeth) Of course. Thank you for coming over and gracing us this evening. B. Oh, honestly, it would have been just another quiet evening at home with my lovelies. H. Oh, you have children, as well? B. No, no. Two miniature shih tzus. They’re my babies. H. (sarcasm) You couldn’t bring ‘em with? B. Oh no, they stay at home. Poor things, probably missing mommy right now. All alone. W. They can live without your loving presence for a few hours, I’m sure. B. Well, I suppose. So you two have children then, I take it? W. We have a son. H. Went off to school. B. Isn’t that nice! H. Addie had wanted to fill the void a child leaving home causes, that’s when she picked up real estate. W. Louis! That is a little much. And it wasn’t just because he left. I was just feeling stuck in general. I was tired of being a stay at home mother, I wanted something more to do--a challenge. B. (chuckling) Well, you’ve certainly found that, haven’t you? W. (fed up) Excuse me? B. The Mercanti place! You’re heading that one up aren’t you? W. Oh. Yes, I am. B. That’s one tough sell. I’ve heard about everything going on over there. W. Do you think it’s haunted? B. Not a chance! Husband’s definitely banging the maid. W. (to Husband) That’s what I said! B. But they said it, you’ve got to list it. That place is going to make for a nice chunk of change, you sell that house. W. I can’t get anyone to come near it. And even if they do show the slightest interest, as soon as they hear haunted, they’re out of there. B. Have you tried an open house, yet? W. No, they seem reluctant to do so, they said they’re still living there and would like their privacy. B. You’ve got to make them understand that no one is going to buy a house without looking inside first. W. I’m trying! They just don’t seem very willing to play ball with me. B. What did I tell you earlier? Listen to them, don’t talk. Just listen. And, if I’m going to be completely honest with you, I have to let you know. Mrs. Mercanti has been in contact with me. She says if you all can’t find a buyer in the next month, she’s going to be calling me again for a consultation. I’m sorry, Adelaide. I hope you can sell this house, I truly do...but if you can’t find a buyer and close in the next month...well, I’m afraid I just can’t say no to a big purse like the Mercanti place. It’s business, you understand? W. (bubbling) Of course, of course I understand. Any advice? B. Get new photos and wardrobe. (slurping up some soup) Something in black. Betty Sandborn begins to choke. She struggles to clear blockage out of her throat. H. Betty, you okay? Betty starts convulsing. H. Jesus! Betty! Husband jumps up from the table, but too late. Betty Sandborn’s body goes limp and she falls face down into the bowl of soup. Silence. H. Betty! The Husband rushes to Betty and pulls her head out of the soup, turning her over. Something small and dark is peering out from between her lips. Wife sits stunned. H. What the hell is that? Husband pulls the object out of Betty’s mouth. H. A rose petal? Black out. END OF PART 3 PART 2 PART 1 Two friends sit at a cafe diner table.
A. What are you going to have? B. Mmm. Not sure yet. A. Oh come on. You know. You're going to have what you always have. B. You don't know that. A. We've been coming here for twenty years and we always sit down, you scour at the menu for fifteen minutes, oohing and ahhing, then end up order the same thing: Traditional bacon and eggs, over medium, which doesn't matter because the eggs will be runny anyways, a side of sourdough toast and all-you-can-eat hash browns. Let's just get it done with already. B. I do not "scour" things. A. You scour! That menu is so clean by the time you're through with it, the waiters need to wash their hands before picking it up. B. I do not "scour", I like to explore my options. A. Fine. Well explore quickly this time, I want to be able to order when the waiter comes back. B. Why are you in such a hurry? A. I just have things to do today. I've got to get moving. B. Yeah, but you've got to find time for yourself--especially to eat. Studies say if you take your time to eat a good meal, it increases brain activity, you feel full longer, and you show overall boost in productivity. A. Thank you, doctor, I'll keep that in mind. And I'm not exactly sure the food this cafe serves is considered "good" or healthy or any similar words. Beat. B. I can't believe this place is closing down. A. I can. Have you seen this place? From the outside, the building looked condemned. B. But on the inside! ...it still looks condemned... A. And the bathrooms...I don't even want to go in them, I swear I feel like I'm going to be raped whenever I'm in there, seriously. It's gross in there. You know there's no door on the stall in there? If you have to...relieve yourself, you just drop trou, squeeze hard and fast, and hope to get the pants back up before someone else comes in. B. You don't wipe? A. There's no time, man--no time! B. Still! This place is a historic landmark to the city. And it's one of the only places we could come to after the bars closed on the weekends, remember? A. Yes, I remember, but that was college. I don't come in here like that anymore. And I also remember belligerent drunks harassing people, puking up everything they had in their bodies and passing out in the booths. B. (Fondly reminiscing) Yeah...remember the hookers that used to come in? A. Of course! I walked one to her car one time. B. And her pimp thought you were a client! A. Kept shouting, "Got ta pay cash ta wax that ass!" B. Didn't he follow you back here? A. Yeah, he was standing outside waving a pistol around. I thought I might die that night. B. That'd be tragic. To die in this cafe...with a shitty asscrack... A. And undercooked fish. B. The fish was always undercooked wasn't it? A. I think mine still had a hook in it. A WAITER approaches the table. W. Alright, are you guys ready to order? B. (Scouring the menu one last time) I'll have the traditional bacon and eggs and hash browns, please? W. Eggs and toast, how d'ya want 'em? B. Over medium and sourdough. W. Great. And for you? A. I'll have the fish. W. Get right on that for you guys! WAITER exits. A. You know your eggs are going to be runny, right? B. Yeah, and your fish is going to still be flopping around on your plate. A. Yeah... B. I'm going to miss this place. A. Me, too. END OF PLAY A-So I've got over 30yrs--
B-& experience somehow qualifies u? A-I want this job! My credentials speak-- B-I've heard enuf...U're hired. An abandoned theme park. A and B sit in an decrepit ferris wheel passenger car high above the ground, overlooking a desolated city.
A. It's beautiful, in an odd way. B. Beautiful? Everything is ruined. A. But it's still here. It's still standing. The remnants of the past. B. It's like looking at an ancient city, buried in the sands of nuclear chaos, a snapshot captured in time. A. Manmade. B. Hm? A. Manmade destruction. B. So man creates. Man destroys. A. Man creates to destroy.. B. Manmade destruction. But look out there! What do you see? A. Crushed buildings. Broken cable. Death. B. Nothing else? A. Trees? B. Life. A. Hardly. B. Why is it where you see death, I see life? A. Perhaps the same reason why blind optimism leads to a black pit of costly disappointment and despair. B. (produces cotton candy) Have some cotton candy. A waves off the cotton candy. B. I've got the blue kind. A takes some cotton candy. B. Things aren't so bad, huh? A. (chowing down) They could be worse. END OF PLAY |
The Project
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