Act One, Scene One
A twenty-something unshaven non-overweight white MAN with touseled hair in on stage with a dog. The dog is alert and happy seeming. A retreiver or mix, but shouldn’t be too much of a mutt.
MAN [scoldingly, to dog]: What did you just eat?
The dog looks at him, tentatively wags its tail.
MAN: You know you’re not supposed to eat things off the ground. What did you eat?
[The dog looks at the man expectantly. Wags its tail a little.]
[NEVER] TO BE CONTINUED …
Heterosexual soul singer, baby
Emblazoned with tears now baby
Power maneuvers in the bar now baby low-light situations
in the dark
C. Darwin smiles over the scene, frowns over the scene, come-a cumma
whoonce chokka WINCE chokka woonce chokka WHILE STILE TURNED STYLE
chokka chokka now
heterosexual soul now, honey
men and women all alone, now honey
hetereosexual soulsinger singing
Repeating himself — the ultimate lost opportunity. The adolescent melodrama extending its long shadow deep into your twenties. Your sideburns growing into beardhair, turning gray. She’s cartwheeling on a rail-thin indie-dude galleon bridgeing Philadephia to Brooklyn. Good luck up North. Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry
Art and coffee
and this includes music
are so much better
than hurting someone you love
worse than art
and music and coffee
are bad rock songs about hurting someone you love