Antenna, Santa Rosa (A play for the stage)

FADE IN: 

EXTERIOR: 

We see a sidewalk and a city street whose traffic is facing towards the audience. 

STAGE RIGHT: We see a wall which takes up roughly half the stage, behind which the interior of The Diorama will soon be visible to the audience. This wall is the brick facade of a bar named THE DIORAMA, whose sign is visible above the door. As scenes change from exterior to interior or vice versa, this wall slides from stage left to stage right. 

STAGE LEFT: One guy about twenty eight years old is standing outside the bar, leaning up against a tall stool by the door and looking at his phone PRINCESS FANTASTIC. He is wearing jeans, a vest and a tank top. He looks like he could be in some deleted scene of The Warriors. He’s supposed to be checking ID’s, but it’s a slow night. 

TIM  walks outside and stands in front of the wall, near PRINCESS FANTASTIC while looking out at the street. TIM is wearing a white buttoned down shirt, tucked into black slacks. He kind of looks like he could either be going to his first communion, or he has some white collar job.  

PF: Smoking huh? 

T: No, I don’t smoke actually. A friend of mine just texted me. She wants me to meet her out here. 

PF: Right on. When is she coming? 

T: She didn’t say. I probably should’ve asked I guess. 

PF: And you’re just gonna stand out here in the cold with me for however long it takes? 

T: Hey I’m just that kind of guy. 

PF: I see. It’s a ‘with great buttons comes great responsibility’ kind of thing. 

T: What’s wrong with my buttons? 

PF: Nothing. I’m saying they’re great. It’s like your shirt is giving off its own nice guy suit of armor flavor. You’ll stand out here no matter what it takes. No lack of cigarettes is too great. No curbside too boring. 

T: Yeah. I kind of need a suit of armor because my nipples are Spiderman. I try not to tell everybody but you brought it up. 

PF: (Smiling) You know, by that standard you’re using, you’d be shocked the number of heros I meet standing out here. It’s a real justice league parade on this corner. Especially when the frost comes in. 

T: I don’t know if I’d call myself a hero exactly. 

PF: Hey, you put your pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. 

T: I actually put my pants on three legs at a time, you know, because I’ve got a huge cock. 

PF: (pausing to smirk) Okay, but then you’d still have to like hop into your pants. And with some veiny jump rope caught between your legs already I don’t see how that’s gonna work. 

T: No, I drop into them. 

PF: You drop in? 

T: Yeah. 

PF: Like…from a swing? 

T: Well it’s more-

PF: So you and this monster wang are just in the naked swing. Are you sleeping? 

T: I’d call it hibernating. 

PF: Right. Are you sure you’re not a vampire? Like maybe you’re sleeping upside down and you fall into them. 

T: I do own a lot of capes. 

PF: I’d think you have to suck blood just to keep your boner with a dong like that. I mean otherwise you’d pass out right? 

T: I- 

PF: Wait, did you say you actually own capes; plural? Like you are the legal owner of more than one cape? 

T: I mean we didn’t get married or anything but yeah, I’ve got a few. 

PF: How many is a few?

T: Seven. 

PF: You do not own seven fucking capes. 

T: I absolutely own seven capes. 

PF: What was…I mean, what was left over after the first cape purchase that you felt like you needed an additional six capes to say to the world? 

T: They have pictures on them. 

PF: (laughing) You shut your mouth. They do not. 

T: Yeah. 

PF: Like, a lot of pictures? Is it like your cape has a bunch of merit badges or something? 

T: No. Come on. It’s one picture per cape. 

PF: Of course. What was I thinking. Please tell me one of them is a picture of your cat. 

T: Probably the best known one is the cheeseburger cape. That’s the one people like the most anyway. 

PF: Sure. For meal times I’m guessing. 

T: No, it’s just like when it’s time for me to do something big. I wore it to a mud wrestling match one time. 

PF: I cannot fucking handle you dude. The words: “I wore my cheeseburger cape to my mud wrestling match.”  are the best thing that ever happened to me. 

T: Pshh. That’s not even my best cape. 

PF: Okay, hang on. (PF pulls up his stool) 

I need to be sitting for this. (PF sits on the edge of the chair and points at TM with both hands. One point per word.) WHAT! IS! YOUR! BEST! CAPE! 

T: The Battleship. 

PF: Like it has a picture of a battleship on it? 

T: Yeah. 

PF: So…(PF stands up and brings his hands to his head like he needs psychic powers to understand this)…It’s like this is the seven deadly sins or something, except, it’s the seven pimpin cape emotions, as decided by your patch collection. 

T: I mean I never put it in exactly those words before, but I guess that is kind of it. 

PF: Wow. I think this is the best day of my life. You sunk my battleship is I think what happened. 

T: Exactly! That’s what that one is for. 

PF: (laughing) You know, I was so skeptical when this conversation started. Now I think I’m opening a cape store. 

T: You can call it “The Thrilling Caper”. 

PF: (laughing and pointing his index finger at T) I officially forbid you from being any more awesome than this. I WILL POOP. Mark my words. 

T: I assumed you did already.

PF: So walk me through the capes here. (Listing on his fingers) We’ve got Cheeseburger. Battleship….Give me the whole collection. 

T: (letting his fingers pop up like he’s done this a thousand times) It goes Cheeseburger, Battleship, Rattlesnake, Unicorn, Report card, UFO abducting a guy in a cape, and Mastodon. 

PF: I have so many questions. 

T: I feel like it’s pretty self explanatory. 

PF: I’m sure you do, but I’m still learning. I need you to show me the light. Report Card. Give me Report Card first. 

T: I’m not even sure how to explain it. Report Card is like: You should’ve been studying. Now it’s judgment day. 

PF: Okay. So it’s like the: “If you don’t know, you better ask somebody” of capes. 

T: Yeah. I wore it to a breakdance fight one time.  

PF: GODDAMN IT! You can’t break dance fight AND mud wrestle AND have different capes for each thing. It’s too fucking excellent. You could make a monster truck get its period by being the man that fucking hard. 

T: Haha. Yeah. Report Card gets a lot of mileage though. You can’t pigeonhole that guy. I wore him to my dad’s funeral. 

PF: I was just about to ask you how that’s possible, but I think I realized what it is. 

(PF and TM together): His card was pulled. 

PF: See now I’m not sure if I’m opening a cape store anymore. 

T: What? You can’t ditch on the store man. 

PF: No, I’m absolutely still opening it. I just feel like it’s a cape temple now or something. Like you are the mountain and I am the mole hill on this. I’m out here fucking around with vests like it’s the seventies or something, thinking I’m hot shit. 

T: Yeah. You look like you’re about to get into some West Side Story rumble with the forces of employment. 

PF: I’m glad that you’re able to sense the jazz-tap background under my vest ensemble. A lot of people miss that. Good eye. 

T: Are you really a dancer? 

PF: What, you think you’re the only guy who can dance fight people? 

(PF crouches down and starts snapping while he walks forward.)

PF: Kind of a different school here… 

(PF bursts out of the crouch to some twinkle toes) 

T: Alright wait, you do yours… 

(T starts walking on his hands. He folds his legs indian style while upside down.) 

PF: And when I say CRAZY you have to say COOL. 

T: Haha. Alright. 

(Some people; BOYFRIEND and GIRLFRIEND walk up and need their IDs checked. PF jogs back over to the front door.) 

BF: (sarcastically) Hey. Busy night? 

PF: That all depends on how you look at it man. Are there a lot of people here? No. But I think I just started a new religion, so… My to-do list is filling up pretty quickly. 

GF: A religion of what? 

PF: That’s a great question. I feel like if you know the answer to it already you never start the religion though. Right? 

GF: I guess so. I’m Mormon so… 

BF: Come on… (BF waves GF inside and they both walk in. PF yells after them.) 

PF: Ooooh. Cliffhanger! Don’t worry. I’m sure we have a cape for that! 

(PF turns back to TM, who has put his hands in his pockets) 

PF: We have a cape for that don’t we? 

T: For what? 

PF: For breakdance fighting Mormons. 

T: Like that’s what they are? Or are we just like popping out of a bush and breakdance attacking them?  

PF: You mean are they just a troop of Mormons who all happen to be in the same break dance fighting organization when we serve them? Or are we just strapping on our pads and storming the tabernacle? I’m really glad you asked me that. Are they different capes? That’s the real question. 

T: I feel like they’re definitely different capes. You don’t wear your battle capes to an ambush. 

PF: (laughing) How are there so many rules? And why do I love all of them. I need a big book of cape rules. 

T: We could sell it at the cape store. 

PF: Haha. It’ll be like our bible. We can’t show up to the Mormon break dance fight with no scripture of our own. You know those guys are coming in heavy. 

T: Definitely. That’s why I’d probably bring the Mastadon to a straight dance off with them, and the Unicorn to the ambush. 

PF: Okay. So don’t tell me. Let me see if I can guess this. Is it like, the Mastodon is for stampeding stuff? Like that’s why it’s a battle cape. We’re about to run you over. 

T: Kind of. It’s for stuff that’s about to go extinct. 

PF: How do you have a whole cape for that? What are you global warming? 

T: I’m just saying, like, there’s sinking your battleship and then there’s clearing the board. I’m pretty sure I can handle SLC’s baddest breakers. Probably they should have stayed home. 

PF: So Mastodon is the: “You shouldn’t have even tried” cape. 

T: Big time. 

PF: It sounds like they’re all battle capes to me. Are they not all for battle? 

T: No man, you’re looking at it the wrong way. It’s just that whatever you’re doing, you know what it is and you’re doing it right. You don’t have to go to war to put your flag in the ground. 

PF: SEE WHAT I MEAN! Cape bible. Page one. Okay. Can I tell you what I really need to know? I’ve been hesitating to ask because I don’t know all the cape rules yet. 

T: Shoot. 

PF: Do you do this thing? (PF grabs an imaginary cape and puts his elbow out in front of him. He begins creeping forward.) 

T: HAHA! I know this is hard to accept but just because I own a cape doesn’t mean I suck people’s blood. 

PF: Okay, follow up question, just really fast. 

T: Yeah? 

PF: Am I the first person this week you’ve had to say that to? 

T: Well-

PF: (Makes a loud buzzer noise) Sorry my friend, that is probably the most yes or no question I’ve ever asked in my life. 

T: Look, that’s an awesome cape move. You can’t just give it to vampires. What if I want to reveal a tray of horderves? Capes are the best move in town there. 

PF: Okay. And then the other vampire turns to stone, or how does it work? 

T: Come on man. Look, that’s not even the best cape move. It’s all about this one right here. 

(T takes his imaginary cape and brushes it briskly behind him before walking away quickly) 

PF: Yeah, I can see that. It’s kind of like swinging your cornrows at somebody, but for capes. Get that flowing in the wind behind you. Let me try that. 

(PF makes a blustery, melodramatic stomp off after swishing an imaginary cape behind him) 

PF: It feels like I should have a cane. Do you not have a sweet cane? 

T: See, I’m glad you brought that up. As soon as you start fucking around with capes the line between pimp and vampire gets very blurry. 

PF: Now I see why you brought the heat with your patch collection. Gotta make sure everyone knows what time it is. Everyone who sees the same thing in the ink blot as you anyway. Will you do “Guy in a cape getting abducted by UFO” for me? I feel like I could guess for a million years and not get that one. 

T: Okay, so that one is like first, if I ever did get abducted by aliens, just in a one in a million chance, I feel like that’s the only way I’m gonna have any kind of upper hand in that situation. 

PF: Wait. WHAT? (laughing hysterically) 

T: (Insisting) Think about it dude. If you laid a trap for a rabbit and then when you went to go check on the trap, there was a picture of you checking the trap in there, that would be kind of creepy right? 

PF: I… I am so rarely speechless. Yes. You got me. The answer to that question is yes. Yes it would be creepy. 

T: Right. I just feel like the pay off is so huge that it’s worth just putting it out there. I mean it doesn’t cost me anything, and if it pays off, it’ll be like one of the coolest things a person ever did. 

PF: GODDAMN IT DUDE! You keep doing this thing where I think I know how much fun I’m having and then you make me even happier. This cape store is going to fucking rule. Yes to canes. Yes to those gloves with long fingers and no knuckles on them. Yes to monocles. 

T: Haha, you’ve got every kind of caped crusader in there. 

PF: Duh dude. I didn’t even realize how fucked up my whole friend roster was until just now. How did I have ZERO capes on my squad? 

T:  We should have bolo ties too. Like with the cattle skulls and the strings. 

PF: Uuuuh….Yes to bolo ties. Yes to extra long cigarette holders and top hats and hair grease and a funeral for how lame everything was before this conversation happened. 

T: It needs a name. 

PF: What does? 

T: Our cape religion. 

PF: Oooooo. It does need a name. Tough call, tall order. We need to go big. 

T: What about: The Great Capery 

PF: Okay. Like we’re members of The Great Capery. Almost. It needs a little more splash. 

T: I hear you. It should probably be harder to say. The Great Capery could be a place that sells salmon or something. We need people to get that weirded out feeling you only get when some total whacko wants to give you a pamphlet. 

PF: So what are you thinking? 

T: The Papal Capataparation. The Cappappa…

PF: I hear what you’re saying. Take training wheels off. We need a name that says: Strap in. You’re in Cape Town now and you need more shots to be here than you do in the African one. Why don’t we get the “Cape” out of there, and just be like, The League of Guys Who Fucking Rule? And then when you show up, it’s like oh shit, they’re all wearing capes. I guess it’s more than a name.

T: Hahaha. 

(Just then we hear a car pull up and car doors shutting. TM’s friend BECKY ENTERS STAGE RIGHT. She is carrying his rattlesnake cape. She is wearing a scrunchie and a back pack). 

T: What’s all this? 

(T accepts the cape from B and then turns to introduce her) 

T: Hey this is my friend I was waiting for, Becky. 

PF: Hey. Nice to meet you. 

(B barely shakes hands, she is all business. She begins unloading elbow and knee pads from her back pack.) 

T: What’s going on? 

B: That chick I told you about is here. She’s about to get served. 

T: The Mormon one? 

PF: No. Oh for the love of christmas, this is too good. It can’t be happening. 

(B stands at the entrance of the bar with her breakin pads, strapped on, beckoning to her mormon breakdancing opponent inside) 

T: So that’s why you brought the rattler. 

PF: Don’t tell me. 

T: Because it’s time for me to pop.

(T begins popping and locking. PF is so happy. He looks like he will poop as promised. GF comes outside and stands in the doorway for a minute, while T is bringing that pop and lock realness. B stands to meet her and things feel a little old west saloon for a second.) 

GF: (Annoyed) Okay…are we really gonna do this right now? 

B: You better go stick your head in that magic hat bitch. Cause you aint got a prayer out here!

PF: U! S! A!…U! S! A!…Mormon breakdance fight between cape owners. This is the greatest country in the world. Can there be a coin toss? I would like to flip a coin about this somehow. 

(B takes out one of those wireless boombox things, and GF starts breaking. T is still going strong on the pop and lock front.) 

PF: I’ve never felt more like I might take off flying from the ground before. I want this to have more rollerblades but that’s my only complaint. 

END SCENE

TITLE: 

(A title card reading: ANTENNA SANTA ROSA is displayed as the background scene clears. All characters move to the inside of the bar, except for PF who continues to stand outside, next to the stool used in the opening scene, waiting to check ID’s.) 

FADE IN

EXTERIOR. SAME NIGHT, continued from earlier scene

(We hold on PF for about a minute or so, while we can hear muffled chatter and music coming from inside the bar. Gradually, RYAN REEVES ENTERS STAGE RIGHT and walks up to where PF is standing. RR is a man of about twenty seven years old. He is dressed in jeans, a tee shirt, and work boots with a flannel worn open over top of them. PF watches him walk up and shakes hands with him casually as he gets within arm’s length) 

PF: Hey man. Your brother is inside. 

RR: Jasper’s here? That piece of shit.  

PF: Yeah. He’s been here for a minute. 

RR: He fucking pulled my ass out of the fire today. 

PF: How’s that? 

RR: Oh, it’s just we’re doing this job right now, I mean I took the contract on this lady’s house and I didn’t fucking think about it. She said she wanted me to clear out all the sick trees that could fall on her house and when I bid the job I thought she just meant like four or five trees. Turns out she actually meant all the sick trees in her property line, so now I’m clearing these fucking old growth redwoods that are practically fucking sky scrapers with a crew of like six guys who’ve never done any job this size before. And there is no fucking way we could get that shit done without a backhoe. And there just aren’t that many drivers who really know what they’re doing. If I didn’t have him out here right now I don’t know what I’d do.  

PF: Is that what he’s doing out here? I mean I’ve known you for years and I’ve never met your brother before. 

(Guy Who Looks Like He Eats Too Many Wings [GW]  walks up. GW is also a man of about twenty seven who is about six foot three. He has a shitty layer of stubble on his face and a gut that makes him look like he smells like onions at all times. He has a very visible wrist watch and a tee shirt that looks like it cost money for no reason besides that you get to tell people it cost that much money. PF checks his ID) 

PF: Hey how are you? 

(PF is talking to GW but still looking at RR. PF shines a small flashlight on the ID before handing it back and gesturing to the door. GW walks inside.)  

RR: Yeah. I told him I had work for him just for this job and it worked out great because I guess he can’t get anything where he’s at right now. 

PF: In Alabama? 

RR: Yeah. 

PF: So is he gonna move here? 

RR: I don’t know. I think he’s thinking about it. I mean there’s more work in the bay but the rents out here are crazy compared to out there. 

PF: Fucking tell me about it. 

(Three more people show up at once and form a small line to get their ID’s checked: one black man [TASHAWN BRINKLEY] dressed more or less like GW, who has his arm around the waist of his white girlfriend [ASHLEY MANSON], and her friend, also white, who looks like she has gotten casually dolled up for this occasion, in an ensemble that includes a jacket that’s meant to be fashionably too small to close over her chest [NICOLE BENSON].  PF and RR nod to each other and RR walks inside.) 

RR: Alright man. 

PF: Yeah man. Good to see ya. 

(PF turns to take ID from TB. TB hands it to him and he shines a flashlight on it.) 

PF: Okay. Can I ask you a question? 

TB: Sure. 

PF: Is it Tah-Shawn? 

TB: Yes. Man, I can’t tell you how many people get it wrong. 

PF: Boom! I’m telling you. Because there’s that “W” right in the middle there, just begging you to trip over it. If I didn’t do this all the time I don’t know if I’d have pulled it off. 

(PF takes [ASHLEY MANSON]’s ID but doesn’t look at it for a second while TB continues to talk) 

TB: It’s usually so bad. 

PF: How do people usually pronounce it? 

TB: They just don’t pronounce it. It’s like the name gives them a fucking stroke or something. I’ll be waiting in line for something and when I hear the person start to be like: Taha-sowan…Ta…Ta Swain… I just cut them off like. Yeah. Fine. Can we just go? 

PF: Haha (looking down at AM’s ID). Oh. Man. That’s rough. 

AM: I know. 

PF: Old Ashley Manson. 

AM: I don’t know anything about Charles Manson either so don’t ask. I refuse to learn. The way I see it the guy has taken enough from me. I’m not reading a fucking book about him. 

PF: Hahaha. Damn! Easy girl. I had no such question locked and loaded for you. Look I hear a lot of people say the same dumb shit over and over again standing out here all night. I get not saying the first thing you think when you hear someone’s name. They’ve heard it their whole life. 

(PF takes ID from NICOLE BENSON, and doesn’t look at it for a second while he continues to talk to AM) 

AM: Like I don’t know what they want me to say. They’re just like…Manson… (AM rocks her head back and forth like she just said “Cowabunga”) and I just have to sit there and be like…yep. Do you see this moment now? This weird moment of silence? This is your fault. 

PF: Hahaha. I feel like you rise to the challenge. Like when people are coming up to Charles Manson, like hey….Ashley Manson right?…. then you’ve arrived. 

(PF looks down at NB’s ID and opens his mouth, but before he can say anything NB cuts him off.) 

NB: Before you say anything, I put too much lotion on. I wanted to look nice for my picture so I put on too much lotion and the flash reflected off it in a one in a million thing. So now I have a light up nose in my photograph and I look like a fucking christmas ornament. Now go ahead. Make a Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer joke. 

PF: Do I have to? 

NB: Everybody does when they see it. 

PF: I was gonna ask if you can smell lights. It looks like your nose was made for that. In Tron. Does it make one of those neon motorcycle streaks? Or is that only when you do blow?

(NB makes a face that doesn’t want to laugh but is kind of laughing while she jokingly snatches her ID back out of PF’s hands in a mock pout. Everyone giggles a little. They begin to filter in and as they do GW walks out) 

TB: You’re leaving? Dude we just got here. 

GW: No, I’m just gonna smoke. You guys go in. 

TB: Hey well-

AM: (pushing TB inside) Okay bye…

(TB, AM, and NB all filter in. GW takes out a cigarette and puts one in his mouth.) 

GW: Oh fuck… (patting his pockets)

PF: What is it? 

GW: Do you have a lighter? 

PF: I do. (PF reaches in his pocket) 

GW: You fucking better have a lighter. 

(PF hands him the lighter) 

PF: Why had I better? 

(GW takes the lighter) 

GW: Because I have to smoke. 

PF: Or you turn into the Incredible Hulk’s weight watchers’ before photo? 

(GW starts to light it and then pauses) 

GW: Yeah. Wait. What do you mean weight watchers? 

PF: Nothing. I mean I’m glad you got a cigarette. When people can’t smoke and they can’t eat they get cranky and that makes my job hard. I should be sponsored by Joe Camel or something. 

(GW lights the cigarette) 

GW: Haha. Yeah. 

(GW puts the lighter in his pocket) 

PF: Hey man. Can I get that back from you? 

(With a smirk on his face. GW takes the lighter back out of his pocket) 

GW: Alright, but I’m gonna need it again later. 

PF: Hey I’ll always be here for you. Free service. 

(GW shakes the lighter in the air for a second like he’s having second thoughts about actually giving it back and then hands it over.) 

PF: Thanks. I knew you could do it. 

(TB walks back outside and stands next to GW. They quickly shake hands.) 

TB: Hey man, what’s going on. 

GW: You know. Same old shit. 

TB: I’m glad you’re here man. Ashley’s fucking already starting up with me. I need someone to pick and roll around when she says snarky shit to me or we’re gonna be screaming at each other in like ten minutes. 

GW: Is that her friend you all came in with? She’s looking good. 

(GW wobbles a little while he looks inside) 

TB: Yeah. Are you drunk dude? 

GW: I mean I had to pregame. 

TB: It looks like you played a whole season man. 

GW: Shut up dude. 

(GW looks over at PF concerned he won’t be allowed in the bar if he’s too drunk. Before PF can say anything AM, NB and B come outside.) 

TB: Already? 

AM: I told you we just wanted to do a shot and then we’d come right out. 

(PF turns to B.) 

PF: Hey if it ain’t Ms. Becky Bad Breaks herself. 

TB: Alright, babe take it easy. 

B: Hey. (Smiling at PF) Can I bum a cigarette off you? 

PF: Sorry. I don’t smoke.

(B makes a flirty kind of face to GW) 

B: Hey do you think I could buy one of those off you? 

GW: Nah. Here. I don’t have a lighter though. 

B: Thanks. (Again smiling) 

AM: (to GW) So this is my friend Nicole…

NB: Hi, how are you.

(GW and NB shake hands) 

PF: So are you one of those, I only smoke when I drink, people? 

B: No. I just need a little space from Tim right now. 

GW: (staring at NB’s tits) I’m glad to shake your hand. I had to make sure I got to your hand first. Plenty of other things sticking out the front of you that look like they’re ready for hands. 

(NB is uncomfortable. She tries to pull her small jacket more closed around herself.) 

PF: Is that his name? We just met. I’ve just been calling him The Man. 

B: Yeah. He’s great. He just kind of starts giving me this puppy dog face sometimes and I just need him over there right now. 

(PF hands her the lighter) 

AM: Nice Tahshawn. These are your friends. 

TB: I didn’t do anything! 

NB: I think I’m gonna go back inside….

(NB walks into the bar. As she walks in JASPER REEVES and T walk out. JR is a stout guy of about twenty two. He is dressed like RR, more or less. JR turns to look over his shoulder at TB, GW and AM as he walks out. AM feels his look. She silently walks back into the bar after NB)  

PF: Hey it’s The Man! You all made my night with that dance fight situation. 

TB: Great man. Now I’m gonna get shit from her all night. 

JR: What happened? 

PF: Oh you fucking missed it. Where to begin. 

GW: Oh come on man. You fucking love me! 

(GW grabs TB by the shoulders and then storms forward into an oddly aggressive hug. He bumps into T who in turn bumps into B, who drops her cigarette) 

B: Oh come on. 

(B gives some serious eyebrow action to GW, who is getting surlier by the second. T picks up the cigarette and gives it back to B)

T: It’s fine. 

B: No. I’m not smoking it now. 

GW: I know it’s fine. I gave her the fucking cigarette. 

PF: Easy man. 

GW: (Looking at T. Puts one arm over T’s shoulder and kind of laughs.) Hey we’re all friends here. I mean what would you do about it if it wasn’t fine? 

T: Nothing. 

GW: Nothing. 

GW: (Looking to B and talking too loudly) Is this your girlfriend? 

B: No. 

T: No. We’re just friends. 

GW: Because you’re gay? 

PF: Alright man. That’s enough. 

T: I’m not gay. 

GW: So you’re just a pussy. 

(T tries to get out from under GW arm and GW won’t let him go. JR and PF rush forward. 

JR puts one hand around GW’s throat. With his other hand, he pulls GW’s arm off of T.  JR continues to rush forward. As soon as JR rushes forward, TB rushes forward. TB stands behind GW to prevent him from falling while he shoves at JR’s head and shoulders. 

While this is happening T squirms out from GW’s grip. T is knocked over by PF who is rushing in to help. PF helps T him up. 

As PF helps up T, RR rushes out from inside the bar. RR reaches over JR and shoves TB backward. With TB gone, GW falls to the ground, where he begins coughing now that there is no hand on his neck. JR grabs GW forearms and holds him on the ground while he coughs.)

JR: Don’t fucking move asshole. 

(TB stumbles on the curb after being shoved back and also falls down. PF grabs GW by the shirt and under the armpit while JR holds his arms and he coughs. Together they drag GW to the end of the block and let him go. TB comes running up and PF shows his hands.)

PF: Easy man. Easy. Just get out of here. That’s it. 

(TB says nothing and picks up GW. The two of them begin to walk away. As PF and JR get back to the front of the bar, GW yells.)

GW: I’m coming back!

TB: Will you shut the fuck up dude? 

(GW and TB exit stage left. PF, RR, JR, B and T all watch as they leave, adjusting their messed up clothes and brushing themselves off until GW and TB are safely out of frame.) 

JR: Did you see that shit? I didn’t even know what was going on. I just heard you say ‘That’s enough’ and I knew it was about to go down. 

PF: Yeah man. (PF pats JR on the arm quickly with the back of his knuckles) Way to be first to flash on that. That’s how we do things around here. I’m just the face of it, but we secure ourselves at this place. You can ask Ryan about it. He knows. 

RR: That was fucking hilarious. Like that big douchey guy started trying to get rough with him around the neck (points to TM) and you were just like ‘Nope’ (points to JR) and just yanked his arm right the fuck off. 

JR: (Patting his forearms jokingly) That’s tree work baby. Drag enough logs to a shredder all day and your shit is like the jaws of life. 

PF: Yeah and as soon as that happened his friend rushed forward and I almost tripped over this dude (points at TM). Sorry about knocking you down man. I was just making a straight line for where Jasper was and I crashed into you. 

T: Don’t sweat it. Thanks for helping me out there. I was trying to be nice to that guy and he was just being a jerk. Before I knew what he was doing he fucking grabbed me. 

PF: Don’t worry about it. That guy was just a douchebag. He was being weird before you even came out here. 

RR: I came out as soon as I heard shit knocking around. 

PF: I know man! Fucking primo response time on this guy. I don’t even need my bat signal anymore. 

RR: (To JR) That is not the first time we’ve had to deal with some shit like that. This is like our place that we come to. The regulars here…I mean everybody kind of knows everybody. We keep it cool you know? It’s just about having a good time. We help each other out. 

JR: I get it, believe me. I look out for my fucking brother. And if y’all look out for each other then shit. I’ll be looking out for you all. 

(AM comes out of the bar looking at her phone and talking loudly. NB is walking next to her, still sort of trying to pull her little jacket closed, but it’s too small. AM is talking to NB, but also melodramatically projecting her voice so that everyone outside the bar can be her audience. JR, RR, PF, T and B all go causally silent.) 

AM: The Uber says it’s a minute away. God I can’t fucking believe Tahshawn. I told him his fucking jerk off friends were going to get him into trouble, but he doesn’t fucking listen to me. 

NB: I couldn’t even believe it when he said that thing about my tits. Like that’s easily my worst blind date first impression ever, and I’ve had some rough ones. 

AM: And now I have to fucking stand out here…

NB: Is that it, over there? (NB points off stage. AM looks at her phone.) 

AM: I think so. Yeah. It’s gotta be… (AM AND NB EXIT STAGE LEFT)

RR: Wasn’t that that guy’s girlfriend? 

B: No, the girl in the little jacket was his girlfriend. That other chick was the black guy’s girlfriend.

PF: She was definitely not his girlfriend. 

RR: Haha. Yeah. I get the feeling that guy is a lifetime bachelor. He looks like he eats a lot of wings. 

PF: That’s too bad. His friend seemed nice when they came in. 

JR: Yeah, that’s just how niggers are though. You don’t have to do shit, they’ll just come after you. Shit where I’m from, when I was growing up if you walked by some group of niggers by yourself they’d fucking chase you down and beat the shit out of you. They can seem nice by themselves but, get them together and that’s how they are. 

(RR rolls his eyes and looks like he’s going to begin apologizing for his brother. PF holds up his hand to RR and stops him) 

B: I think I’m gonna go inside. 

(B turns quickly and walks inside. T watches her go and stutters with his body for a moment. B gives him a cutting look.)  

B: Tim. Don’t follow me around. 

(TM brings his arm to the back of his neck for a moment and stands awkwardly in the circle of guys. He breathes in deep, as though he is preparing to be punched in the face.) 

T: Look man. You can’t- 

PF: (Holding his palm up to  T) I got it man. It’s fine. 

JR: Aw fuck. I did a couple of shots, Ryan told me y’all don’t want to hear that shit out here, but it’s just how I talk. I’m not good at saying stuff that’s not actually what I’m trying to say. You know what I mean? I don’t want to piss anybody off. 

PF: It’s not that I’m pissed off man. I just don’t get why you have to say it like that.  

JR: I’m just trying to tell you some shit that happened to me. 

PF: Yeah but what you call somebody isn’t a thing that can happen to you. 

JR: You wanna call them something else you can call them something else. I’m not gonna tell you how to talk. I’m telling my story right here. 

PF: Okay so you tell me what happened to you.  

JR: I would never do shit. They just saw that I was white and they’d chase me down. Just like I saw that they was niggers. 

PF: So then did you want them to chase you? 

JR: I just knew to run. I can tell you that. 

PF: But is it a good thing that they chased you, when you didn’t do a goddamn thing to them at all? That’s bullshit right? 

JR: Fucking aye. That’s what I’m saying. But that’s just how niggers are. 

PF: But that’s you doing the exact same thing, right now. You’re seeing somebody and before they do something you already decided what they are. 

JR: I decided to run. That’s what I decided to do. 

PF: Yeah alright but if a black guy were to come by here right now, would he be a nigger? 

JR: I’d have to wait and see. If I was by myself he probably would be. 

PF: Why? 

JR: Because when they get you by yourself they try to get at you. 

PF: So then that’s what makes a nigger to you. A nigger is someone who chases other people for no reason just to be a belligerent piece of shit. 

PF: Yeah. 

JR: So then why don’t you just call him a belligerent piece of shit? 

PF: Because I don’t like people telling me what I can and can’t say. 

PF: I’m not trying to tell you what to say man. I’m trying to figure out what you mean. Because when you say that shit, the first thing I hear is someone who is belligerent about people on sight. By your standards you’re telling me you’re a nigger. 

JR: I see what you’re saying. 

PF: It’s not a PC thing man. It’s a free country. If someone beats the fuck out of you for nothing that person is garbage. Just don’t be a piece of garbage if you don’t actually want to be. That’s all. 

RR: I fucking tried to tell him not to say that shit out here. 

PF: Hey man. It’s not what you say. It’s what you mean. You know? I mean we know each other here right? That’s how we keep the peace. 

END SCENE

(The Wall of Diorama is moved from STAGE RIGHT to STAGE LEFT. )

FADE IN: 

INTERIOR: DIORAMA the bar. 

In the background we see four booths against the far wall, in a row from left to right. (BOOTHS 1 – 4). In the foreground we see two tall tables each about armpit height, and each with two stools at it, which are identical to PF’s stool outside. Each table has a dish in the center filled with pieces of decorative glass. (TABLE 1) is in the foreground between BOOTH 1 and BOOTH 2 and (TABLE 2) is in the foreground between BOOTH 3 and BOOTH 4. At the far right of the stage is THE BAR itself. It has three stools in front of it and a wall of bottles behind it. 

Behind THE BAR are MILES COYJAN, a good looking Asian man of about 28 years old who has full sleeve tattoos on both arms. MC is bartending. Behind the bar with him is his barback DESIRAE FONTAINE or Desi for short. She is a short woman, who is plus sized and wears it very well. She’s very comfortable in her job and is washing glasses like she’s done it a million times. MC is meticulously punching things into a register. 

In the foreground at TABLE 2, B is quietly going through her phone and occasionally sipping her drink. 

In the background at BOOTH 1 are SAM BRONER, FELICIA BLUECREST, and NORMAN DIRGES. All of whom are in their mid forties, and dressed in business casual, aside from FB, who looks like she came straight from a real estate office job to Diorama. 

We see the light focused on BOOTH 1, where we can hear the characters talking among themselves. 

ND: I gotta hand it to you Sam. Every time this place gets a new owner, they think they’re gonna turn it around, and every time the same thing happens. There’s a shooting, or a stabbing or some big fucking episode, and the place has to close. 

FB: Yeah, I mean I have to be honest. If it was me looking at the loan application for reopening this place, just on paper, I’d never approve it. Not with its history. 

SB: That’s because you’re never gonna see the finishing touches that actually make bars work on a loan application. Take your actual service staff. A lot of people say to me, why don’t you just get some sexy chick with big tits to serve drinks all night? But if you do that all you’re gonna get in the bar are a bunch of guys all trying to fuck the same girl, and then no women will show up, and if women stop coming to your bar, you can pretty much just pack up shop. Now look at those two. I picked exactly what I wanted. If you really want your bar to work you want about a seven level physical attractiveness male bar tender, and then about a six level attractiveness female bartender, usually a short, kind of chubby type. From an economic stand point, those are your best bets. You want a good looking guy to tend bar because that brings in women, and no women, no bar really. But you don’t want him to be too good looking because it’ll turn the bar into a violent place by making all the guys that come there insecure and unable to take it out on the guy they feel insecure about. So you want him just barely above the radar, better than average looking, but not an, I have to fuck that guy, guy. Just good looking enough to get you thinking about fucking, which helps the bar do more business. Same thing with the woman. She has to be less attractive than the guy is because we have double standards like that and women will be more insecure. But at the same time, with enough liquor in ’em, guys will stick it to fucking anything, and she’s the kind of attractive that increases dramatically after about four shots, which makes guys feel like they’re friends with her a little more. Just because their repressed attraction gets mixed up with the other jolly feelings that they’re going out on the town to build and since she’s behind this economic barrier, those feelings stay where they are and become a general feeling of generosity. So you get a culture of guys lowering their standards, women who are thinking about fucking, and nobody feeling insecure enough about those things to start problems with each other that are our fault. You put that together with a security staff that knows all the regulars and the place stays calm and it stays profitable. 

ND: Yeah but what about random, you know, “urban” guys with pistols in their belts who just want to start something however they can? 

SD: You mean the “criminal element” (SD makes air quotes) 

ND: Yeah. You know what I’m saying. 

SD: Easy. We just don’t carry Hennesey. 

FB: (blurts a laugh) Hah! No. 

SD: It’s that simple. None of those gangster guys stick around if they can’t drink it. 

(Everyone laughs) 

ND: Oh man. You’ve gotta be kidding me. 

FB: Oh that’s rich. You know we have to do the same kind of thing in real estate all the time.

ND: Oh you don’t serve Hennesey in the office? 

FB: No you know what I mean. I mean people want to buy and they ask you what kind of neighborhood it is and you have to say it to them without actually saying it to them, you know? I just try to be like: Look before you put this much money down, make sure this is the kind of community that’s a good fit for you. Go out to the grocery store down the street at night to buy diapers and see who’s buying them. Ask yourself if that’s the kind of neighborhood you want to live in.  

ND: And they get it? 

FB: Yeah they get the message, and it gets you referrals, as an agent. People want to know you’re going to take care of them personally like that. 

ND: I hear you. It’s the same thing at the bank really. People think banking is all dollars and cents but they forget how much consumer confidence has to do with it. You need to be good with people if you want to make smart loans. That’s what all these regulators don’t understand. Like look if I’m writing a 30 year mortgage, I’m sorry but life expectancy is a big factor there. And some groups of people have shorter life expectancies than others. Now is that my fault? Is it theirs? I don’t know. I’m not paid to know whose fault it is. I’m paid to write solid mortgages. 

SB: Yeah but don’t you have to meet some diversity target or something? It sounds like there would be a law that says you have to do that. Maybe you just have to do it during Kwanza or something. Like diversity sweeps week. 

ND: Haha. Once a year I put on my promotional dashiki and just start handing out down payments with packs of menthols. 

FB: I’ve heard that banks can get into trouble if they don’t issue enough low income loans. 

(JR, RR  and TM all walk into the bar. They walk to the far right and sit on the stools. We can see but not hear as they’re greeted and served by MC). 

ND: Trouble from who? I release a report about our loan portfolio’s demographics once a year that might as well be written in Chinese. It’s posted on some link that you’ll never find on our website unless you know exactly where to go, and the print is small enough to fit the whole thing on a grain of rice. I think maybe the FDIC is supposed to make sure I do it, maybe just the diversity police are supposed to check it. I’m not totally sure to be honest. I’ve never had anybody say word one to me about it. 

SB: Right who would even complain? Some broke ass guy who never got a loan? Yeah I’m sure he’s got a tank full of legal sharks just ready to tear the bank apart. I’ll take my chances, thanks. 

ND: Haha. 

(The light over BOOTH 1 fades. We can still see the conversation at BOOTH 1 happening but we can no longer hear it. As the light over BOOTH 1 fades, the light over TABLE 2 comes on, where we see B still looking at her phone. As the light over TABLE 2 comes on, TESS and ERICA ENTER STAGE LEFT the bar and join B at it. TESS is a woman of about twenty four. She has thick, dark rimmed glasses, a nose ring and a cute top on. Her hair is flat, dark black and immaculately in place. Her nails are done and they match her top and make up. She gives off hipster realness. ERICA is about the same age. She wears a t- shirt with the words “Derby Nights” written on it above a picture of a roller skate with four wheels. She has not done her hair for this occasion. B looks up from her phone as E greets her.) 

E: Hey. 

B: Hey. Did you guys just get here? 

T: Yeah. Erica wanted to smoke before we came in but there was this homeless guy out there acting weird. 

E: Tess got weirded out. He kept talking to the door guy. It seemed fine to me, but it was kind of awkward. 

T: He kept asking the homeless guy all these questions about whatever crazy shit he was talking about. Like he was gonna follow up on it or something. I was like, Hello? We’re just trying to get inside here. And he’s all: ‘Okay start from the beginning. It sounds like you started the fight with the dog…” and he just waved us in. 

B: That guy is alright. Tim is friends with him now I guess. 

T: God I can still smell him. It’s like in my hair I think. (Smells her hair). 

(NB gets up from BOOTH 1 and goes outside, 

EXIT STAGE LEFT)

E: Is that the bartender? He is cute. 

B: I told you. 

T: I mean he’s cute, but in a parole violation kind of way. 

E: Well la tee da Ms. Thick Frames. Hipster Barbie over here wants a different Ken. 

T: Oh please. I just need something in the dollhouse at this point. I’d go home with a pack of hot dogs if it bought me a drink. 

E: So nice of you to lower your standards. 

T: Bitch at least I look like I have standards. With that picture stretched over your fat tits. You look like a can of baked beans. Princess Scrunchie over here looks like a trapper keeper that made a wish to be a real girl. 

B: Meow bitch! That dollhouse must be getting pretty dusty. The claws are out. 

T: You got me. How’s my hair? 

B: Please. You look hot. I’d fuck you. 

(We can see but not hear as RR laughs and shakes hands with MC. RR points to JR and TM.)

E: You’re not the only one (E points to the bar with her nose as TM turns and points at B.)

E: No don’t look. (B,T, and E share a little bashful laugh). 

B: Oh yeah. Tim wants to fuck me. How is that news? 

T: Yeah okay fine but what about his friends? They don’t look so bad. 

B: Honey, save your breath. He just met them tonight. One of them is some redneck guy who’s weird and racist. I don’t know the other one but I think they’re brothers. 

T: I don’t know. Tim seems fine with them and he’s practically a teddy bear. How do you know he’s racist? 

B: Well he called some guy a nigger after he hit him a bunch of times. I don’t know if I really need to ask him any more survey questions about it. 

T: What? 

B: It was a whole thing before you guys got here. That’s why I came inside. 

E: So why is Tim still hanging out with them then? That doesn’t seem like him. 

(The light over TABLE 2 fades and the light over THE BAR picks up, where we see RR staring over his shoulder at the table of women. JR is staring at DF’s ass as she turns around to get ice out of a cooler.) 

JR: So you like working here? 

(DF looks at JR while still bent over and turns around to finish expertly making his drink like she’s heard the question as many times as she’s gotten ice.)

DF: I don’t know, are you asking me questions that you don’t really care what the answers to are with some goofy smirk on your face because you’re four shots deep and I’m starting to look more fuckable to you than I did when you first walked in here? 

JR: Hey, just making conversation sister. Take it easy. 

DF: Hey, I’m just giving you some conversation brother. I’ve just had this conversation a bunch of times before. I think it might be built into the stool or something. I have to throw some curve balls out there just to make it interesting. 

T:  So you do like working here. 

DF: I can’t complain. A bartending job is like a dirtbag master’s degree. Where else am I gonna make this kind of money and still have a bunch of tattoos and say whatever I want to? 

JR: Tattoo shop? 

DF: Right. And I can’t draw and there’s not a third place really. 

RR: Hey you could come haul logs around with us. 

DF: Pass. I’m good at this. It pays well. I get to make fun of people. I’ll keep it. 

T: You guys. I guess that’s just a perk of the job. Your door guy was bagging on me too. 

DF: You mean the Princess? 

T: The guy outside that’s working the door. 

DF: That’s Princess Fantastic. 

JR: You guys call him that? 

MC: He calls himself that. 

RR: Why? 

MC: Who the fuck knows. He just screws around a lot. I think he likes that it messes with people or something. All I know is that when he works the door I don’t have as many problems. 

T: Yeah. He seems nice. I mean he’s out there talking to some homeless guy right now. I wouldn’t be doing that. 

MC: He is? I told him to knock that shit off. There’s fucking too many of them around here. He like thinks it’s funny but they start coming around the front of the place and it’s bad for business. 

RR: There are a lot more of them lately it seems like. 

JR: People just can’t afford shit out here, I guess.

DF: They got problems. My aunt was homeless for a while. Her husband left her and she’d never had a job in her life. By the time she thought to lawyer up he’d taken off with all their shit. She was sleeping in her car for like three months because she was too embarrassed to ask anyone else in our family for help. And you don’t think about it at first but then it’s like oh fuck. My aunt is a homeless person now. 

JR: They fucking do drugs is what they do. 

MC: Everybody does drugs. We’re a bar. We’re drug dealers of alcohol. 

JR: Yeah but you know what I mean. 

MC: Yeah but then why would there be more of them all of the sudden? Like what, a bunch of people were all coincidentally like: ‘Man. I sure do hate sleeping in this bed. Also, I wonder what cocaine smells like.’ That’s not what happened. A bunch of people who own property got more rental applications than they knew what to do with and they decided to bleed the rest of us dry. Fucking ask Sam. He’ll tell you that shit straight up. He’s like: the highest bidder gets the place. More bids. Higher prices. It’s fucking musical chairs. Someone is gonna get out on their ass. And then the only ones with the money to build are the ones who already own and they don’t build shit on purpose because they can make more money by just sitting on their hands. 

(FB ENTERS STAGE LEFT. She walks up to BOOTH 1 and says something to SB. She gestures to the front door) 

JR: Yeah well that guy outside is fucking high out of his mind. 

RR: I think he might just be crazy, to be fair. 

T: It could be both. He’s a crazy person who got really high. I mean I’ve been high before. I have never said some shit like that. 

JR: He fucking scared the women away. I was just about to talk to them.

RR: You mean those chicks right there? 

(RR gestures over to TABLE 2 with his head. JR turns to look) 

RR: No don’t look. 

(JR quickly looks away. Laughs can be heard from TABLE 2)

T: Them? Oh shit. They’re Becky’s friends. I can introduce you if you want. 

RR: Fuck yeah. Let’s do it. 

(As RR, JR and TM walk to TABLE 2, SB gets up from BOOTH 1 and walks over to THE BAR. The light stays on THE BAR. We can see but not hear the conversation begin at TABLE 2). 

SB: Hey man. You gotta tell your door guy to get the homeless people away from the front of the bar. We can’t have that shit out there. 

MC: I told him that shit before. 

SB: Well fucking tell him again and make it stick this time! 

END SCENE 

EXTERIOR. DIORAMA BAR. 

(The partition is moved from STAGE RIGHT to STAGE LEFT. MC approaches PF, popping his head out of the front door. PF is talking to WALTER a homeless man dressed in dirty clothes with a scraggly beard. W stands too close to the front door, as a few people scurry past PF and into DIORAMA.) 

W: No because they wouldn’t let me back in after that. They said I had too many fingers. 

(PF laughs and W laughs with him, but much louder and faster. It sounds like a goose honking) 

PF: Haha. I guess it’s better to have too many than not enough right? I mean unless you’ve got a whole jar of them or something. 

W: Man, you don’t want to know the shit that I’ve got jars full of. (W honks again). 

PF: HA! See that’s where you’re wrong buddy. I absolutely want to know the things you’ve got jars full of. Let’s start from the top here. 

MC: Dude! 

PF: Huh? 

MC: Can I talk to you over here please? 

PF: Shit. 

(PF walks closer to the entrance) 

MC: I fucking told you, you can’t be collecting fucking weirdos out here. It’s bad for business. People inside are complaining, and fucking Sam is here. He’s chewing me out about it and I don’t need that shit with him right now, I really don’t. 

PF: Well what am I supposed to do? It’s a city street. Everybody comes walking by. 

MC: You’re supposed to tell his stank ass to move the fuck on. He’s creeping the chicks out. We’re trying to sell booze here. 

PF: Move on to where? His summer cottage? I can’t just vanish the guy. 

MC: Look dude, do you want to keep your job? Sam is here. We’re fighting about other shit. I need you to bounce this dude down the street. 

PF: Take it easy man. Fine. 

(MC goes back inside, as a few women walk towards the bar, W1, W2, W3.) 

PF: Hey man. I gotta cut the conversation short. 

W: You can’t cut me off. I got my own supply. 

PF: You gotta go man. I’m sorry. 

(W stands for a moment unsure if he really is going to leave or not. PF goes to take a step closer to him and he instantly sounds off.) 

W: (Honk laughs) Alright! That’s what they all say! You all! You’re just another one of them! Fucking follow me around! Fucking can’t take a fucking shit!…(W EXITS STAGE LEFT. The scene is silent for a moment before ASHLEY 2 approaches with her ID. A2 is there with her friends ASHLEY STEVENS  and NICOLE 2) 

A2: What was he so mad about? 

PF: Everything. I mean he’s a homeless guy. Make a list. 

AS: I thought he was just mad at you. 

(PF laughs a little) 

PF: Yeah. Well what am I supposed to do? I mean the guy is obviously out of his mind. If we were standing in somebody’s living room right now, I could call an ambulance and be like: Hey my uncle Walter is not making sense anymore and I think something is seriously wrong with him. And they’d be like: Oh, of course. We’ll be there right away. But because we’re on a sidewalk and he’s got a beard if I call them it’s like: That problem is as old as time! Get out of my face! I tried it before. They were like: We can send a cop. I was like look, I don’t need a gun here. The guy isn’t hurting anyone. He’s just making us feel weird. He’s the one who’s in danger. He’s fucking insane and he doesn’t know what’s going on. 

A2: Yeah I heard that a homeless guy got stabbed to death in the park.

PF: No he got beat to death in the park. I mean the guy hit him and I think he might have been sick or something, but he died.

N2: No I’m pretty sure he was stabbed to death. 

PF: No the homeless guy that was stabbed to death was stabbed to death behind this bar. 

AS: Are you sure?

PF: I’m sure. One of our bar backs found him. He walked back there and he was like what is this shit on my shoes? And then he saw the guy’s body and he was like oh fuck. That’s blood. 

A2: Didn’t the same guy that stabbed that guy stab someone else too? 

PF: Yeah in a movie theater like two days later or something. He still had blood on his shoes and that’s how they knew it was the same guy. 

A2: Fuck I don’t know why I thought it happened in the park.

PF: Because a homeless guy did die in the park, but he was beaten to death. 

N2: It feels like I would have heard something about that in the news. 

PF: Yeah I mean they put a story about it in the paper, but it was like a nutrition facts sized thing and everybody was just like: Oh homelessness! What an unsolvable problem. Like, bitch. I got your solution. It’s called money. And they’ve got the money. That’s the problem. 

A2: There’s just not enough of it I guess. 

PF: Bullshit. I mean, no offense to you personally but that’s total bullshit. They throw billions of dollars at this problem, with a B. We could’ve built every homeless person in this county their own space shuttle by now if we were actually trying to solve the problem. 

AS: They keep trying to put them somewhere, there just isn’t anywhere for them to go. 

PF: Do you really believe that? They declared an emergency about it, remember that? There were no new homeless people, they just started sleeping under the overpass downtown where everyone could see them and it looked really bad for the city, so they were like: Oh my gracious! This is the first I’m hearing of it. Emergency! So think about any other emergency. Like if there was an earthquake and a thousand people lost their homes because of it, would we just let them push shopping carts around until they dropped dead on the sidewalk? Or would we start opening up places and making due with whatever we could until we actually figured it out? 

AS: Yeah. I guess so. I mean people are working at solving it. 

PF: Yeah. I’m less sure of that than you. I mean people are getting paid to solve it, sure. But are they working? They’re cashing checks. Writing neat little reports. But what happens if they don’t work really? If someone gave a shit about you already, you wouldn’t be homeless, as a general rule. We care about homelessness as a big thing that floats around in the air somewhere, but actual homeless people are a problem that nobody gives a shit about, not enough to let them sleep on the couch at least. We know we probably should care about it, but we’ve all got shit to do. So we pay taxes and tell the government to figure it out. So if it’s your job to help them and you don’t do it, who gives a shit? We literally hired you to give a shit for us, and if you don’t do it, nobody will. 

N2: I don’t know. I mean I give a shit. I don’t want to see people be homeless.

A2: I feel like everybody kind of gives a shit, just like everybody kind of doesn’t. Like if I could push a button that would fix it, I’d push that button. But past a certain point, what do you want from me? I got my own problems thank you very much. 

PF: Right. I’m lighting that candle. I’m wearing that wrist band. But past that, gimmie a break. That’s the whole point with taxes though isn’t it? They’re a little piece of all the work we do, so that the stuff that needs to get done that nobody gives a shit about actually gets done. That’s what they’re supposed to be anyway.  We already did the work to solve this problem. Trying to find another solution to it is like making us pay our taxes over again, and of course nobody wants to do that, but that doesn’t mean we don’t get what taxes are for or why we should pay them. We just don’t want to be fucking extorted. 

AS: And I guess you just have no opinion about it huh? Try just saying what’s on your mind every once in a while Mr. Shyness. Sheesh. You’ll feel better. 

PF: Ha! Yeah. I know. I used to keep it all bottled up inside but you know, then my landlord started to complain about the smell so… Plus I think she put some in her coffee on accident. 

AS: Haha. Wait what was in the bottle? 

PF: A fine how do you do, is I think the best way to explain it. Like that’s what you’d say it was if you accidentally put some in your coffee and then took a sip. Like: (PF mimes taking a sip of coffee. He shakes his head and squints at the imaginary cup.) Well that’s a fine how do you do.. 

A2: So you’re a fine how do you do then? 

PF: I’m squirting in people’s coffee is what I’m doing. And yeah I’m obviously pretty fine, in a Beyonce kind of way. 

N2: (Kind of laughing, kind of looking at PF like he’s gross.) Lovely. That’s just great. Can we go inside now please? 

PF: Be my guest. 

A2: I’m gonna smoke. 

(AS and N2 go into the bar. A2 takes a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket). 

A2: Do you have a lighter? 

PF: As a matter of fact I do. (PF hands her the lighter.) 

A2: You’re not gonna smoke with me? 

PF: I don’t smoke actually. 

A2: But you have a lighter? 

PF: I get asked for one so much that I just buy them now. It makes my job a lot easier. 

 A2: God I would smoke so much if I had a job like this. Just standing out here all night. And then I’m sure everyone is coming out here to smoke. 

PF: Yeah. I hear that a lot. But I never started smoking. They explained that shit to me in school and it was the one time I felt like my teachers made sense. I was like, let me get this straight. It costs a bunch of money, it’s really bad for you, and you don’t even get high? I was just like; I can figure out other stuff to do with my hands. It’s not that hard. 

A2: Ha. Yeah. It’s true. If I’m drinking outside and I have no cigarette I have no idea what to do with my hands. It feels like I’m supposed to do some magic trick that I forgot the steps to. 

(A2 mimes not knowing what to do with her hands, positioning them in different places around her face.) 

PF: Haha. You just gotta lean into it until everyone else feels like you’re doing the right thing and they don’t know what’s going on. 

(PF begins to copy her hand movements, until the two of them coordinate.) 

A2: (A2 uses her hands to accentuate her words. PF mimicks her.) Haha. Right. Like hello? We’re all little teapots people. Let’s get with the program. 

PF: And then we end it in a high five. Up top! 

(The two of them high five. A2 puts her hand out in front of her.) 

A2: Down low… too slow.

 (A2 removes her hand at the last second. PF is shocked and appalled.) 

PF: Oooh! Come on. I can’t believe I fell for that. That’s rookie. 

(W can be heard approaching. He’s yelling. As he comes on stage, his words become audible.) 

ENTER STAGE LEFT: W. 

W: Did someone call the fun police? They raided my dad’s house. Took his fucking boat. Told him he could buy it back. The fucking boat didn’t do anything. This is fucking bullshit!  

PF: Walter. Dude. You’ve got to go man.  

W: You gonna make me go? Mr. Big Shit. Mr. Front Door Faggot? What are you gonna do huh? 

(W throws an empty soda can he found at PF. PF knocks it down and begins to run at W. W runs first and is quickly off the stage.) 

EXIT STAGE LEFT: W

(W can be heard but not seen yelling at them from a distance.) 

A2: That’s the fun part of the job I guess huh? 

PF: Yeah. I mean I’m just out here. Everything washes up sooner or later. 

A2: That sucks. 

PF: Yeah I mean I’m pretty sure it sucks for that guy way more than it sucks for me. I feel bad about it you know? Like I don’t want to chase some poor son of a bitch who’s obviously out of his fucking mind around. I mean what does that make me? The guy needs help. It just feels like we should be able to call someone, that’s all I’m saying. It’s fucked up that there’s no phone number for this. 

A2: Yeah. And it’s not like it’s a little thing. I mean like you said someone was stabbed to death like thirty feet from here. 

PF: Yeah. Fucking my friend Ryan knew that guy too from back here. I never met him, but from what he said he was a nice guy. He was cool with his parents and everything, he just slept outside sometimes. Like he’d write poetry and sleep behind bars I guess. His name was Shirak. 

A2: That’s crazy. 

PF: It sure is. Crazy is one word for it.

Greedy would probably work. I just don’t believe that they don’t have the money to fix this. That’s not the problem we have. Imagine your shitty aunt or your dick head grandpa. The family member that someone else in your family has to prep you for before the cook out or whatever. Where they’re like: Ok Aunt Shelly is gonna be there and I want you to promise me that you’re not going to make a scene… 

A2: My mom used to do that with my grandpa on my dad’s side. He was a Fox News guy, he used to say all kinds of stupid shit about Mexicans invading America, and before he’d come over for Christmas or whatever she’d just be like; I know it’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. We’re not gonna change his mind right now, let’s just get through dinner okay? 

PF: Right. It sounds like she’s asking you not to make a scene, but what she’s really saying is that for some reason we’ve all agreed to take shit off this person. Maybe they’ve got the money. Or maybe they’re just family and we’re stuck with them and we’ve just been opting not to deal with their shit for so long that still doing that feels easier than anything else. Now imagine you gave that person a million dollars and said: Now Shelly, this is to help those guys that are sleeping outside okay? And she snaps at you like: Of course! Jeez, what do you think I am? And part of you would really like to tell her what you think she is, but then you think better of it right? Let’s not make a scene. It’s not worth it. But then it keeps not getting done, and now people are getting stabbed to death, and we have to think about what that’s worth. 

A2: I actually have an aunt named Shelly who’s kind of a bitch. 

PF: Haha! Nailed it on the first try. Can I have my lighter back actually? 

A2: Oh sure. 

PF: I just realized that I don’t actually know your name. 

A2: How do you not know my name? I come in here all the time. 

PF: Hey lots of people come in here all the time. I’d have to remember hundreds of people’s names. 

A2: What do you think my name is? 

PF: Are you asking me to guess what your name is? 

A2: Yes. 

PF: I’m never gonna guess it. I feel like I just name you myself. Let’s see. We want something classy. You seem like a classy broad. 

A2: I am classy. You should see my phone case. 

PF: How about T-Bone? That’s a classy nick name. 

A2: That is like the least classy nick name of all time. 

PF: I don’t know about the T-Bones you’ve met in your life time. All the T-Bones I know are class acts. They iron their shirts with pictures of tuxedos on them with real attention to detail. 

A2: But it’s a guy’s name. And it’s not even a guy’s name. It’s like a douchey guy’s motorcycle’s name. 

PF: God that’s such a T-Bone thing to say. 

A2: Do not call me T-Bone. 

PF: Haha. Alright so what’s your real name then? 

A2: Ashley. 

PF: Ha! It is not. 

A2: Yes it is. What’s so funny about that? 

PF: Nothing. Just, you’re going to be Ashely 2, alright. I mean, if the past is any indication of the future, I’m gonna get like nine more fucking Ashely’s before the night is over. Numbers is the only way to do it. Unless you want to be T-Bone? The T-Bone thing is still on the table. 

A2: Oh will you shut up. 

PF: Sometimes I wish I could. 

(W screams get louder as he begins walking back towards the front door.) 

W: It’s a bunch of fucking bullshit is what it is! Fucking take my sleeping bag! Fucking take my keys!

A2: I think I’m gonna go inside. 

PF: Sure. 

(W1 EXITS STAGE RIGHT) 

END SCENE 

INT. DIORAMA BAR. 

(The partition is moved from STAGE RIGHT to STAGE LEFT. We see A2 walk into the bar and approach AS and N2 as they appear to talk flirtily with MC. We can see but not hear as she’s greeted by her friends. Shortly after two more men GUY 1 and GUY 2 enter the bar and approach D, who turns around to get ice for their drinks while they pretend not to look at her ass and exchange glances with AW, AS. N2. The light goes on over TABLE 2, where JR, RR, and TM are talking to TESS, BECKY and ERICA.) 

JR: So you rollerblade? 

E: No I roller derby. We don’t do tricks. We fuck shit up.

JR: Haha. Okay. So derby. Like the Kentucky Derby? Like it’s a rollerblade race? Are you a thoroughbred? 

E: You need to drop that rollerblade shit right now. Rollerblades are for guys holding hands together while they skate to hair appointments on their honeymoons. Our skates have four wheels. We’re dug in. We’re catching elbows to the face. 

JR: Haha. Damn girl. I had no idea. Is it a show though? I mean people come to see it because it’s a show don’t they? From what you’re saying it sounds like professional wrestling for women on wheels. 

B: It’s probably not as entertaining as a cross burning. I know that’s what you’re used to. 

JR: What? 

T: Becky take it easy. 

JR:  Look, that’s just how I talk. I don’t mean nothing by it. I’m a try to fix it while I’m here. 

RR: He’s my brother. He’s harmless. He just gets a couple shots in him and says some dopey shit. Where he’s from that shit is normal. But he treats everybody the same if they come at him straight up. I can tell you that for goddamn sure. 

B: Whatever. I heard what I heard.  

E: Is that really what you said? 

JR: Baby I am Martin Luther King if it gets me next to you. Kumbaya. Hands Across America. We can go back to your place and celebrate Kwanza together. 

E: Haha. Slow down there Dr. Skool. 

(The lights go down over TABLE 2, where we can continue to see but no longer hear the conversation. The lights go up over THE BAR where MC makes his way over to GUY 1 and GUY 2 after having set up drinks and taken money from A2, AS, and N2.) 

MC: Hey what’s up man. Gin and tonic? 

G1: Nah. Just an IPA. 

(MC reaches under the bar, takes out a bottle of beer and pops the top.) 

MC: So were you able to get that for me? 

G1: I was not. 

G2: What are you trying to get? 

MC: Haha. Boy did your ears perk up. Look at you sink right in there like you’re in some PSA about dudes to avoid. This is you. (MC mimics looking side to side and sliding over the bar behind his elbow. He starts whispering) ‘Hey man, whatcha trying to get.’

G1: Haha. Yeah, and then it’s like: Freeze! (G1 puts his palm out suddenly. MC freezes and G1 stands in front of him with his fingers tented together) let’s think about the four dees of drug avoidance. 

G2: Haha. Oh man. I’m just making conversation. Do I really look like that? 

MC: Don’t worry about it man. It’s some shit for my mom, for her cancer. 

G2: Oh shit. How’s she doing? 

MC: Not good. The chemo’s got her all fucked up. She’s fucking throwing up and shit. She’s a fucking old lady you know? She can’t handle that shit. 

G2: How old is she?

MC: I mean she doesn’t even know how old she is, because she was born in a fucking bucket in the middle of china somewhere. 

G2: Haha. 

MC: No seriously. She told me the story of it. They held a bucket under my grandma, there was a cow like five feet away. It’s her reason for everything now. You can’t tell her shit. 

G2: So she’s old. 

MC: Yeah I mean if you saw her you could see that she’s an old Chinese lady from like two miles away. She’s got this wrinkly old finger she points at everybody because she can’t really do much else at this point. She doesn’t want my help with anything though. She’s got fucking cancer, you know? I had to move in just to take care of her and she knows that. But still I’ll try to do shit for her and she’s just like: (MC waves his finger) I WAS BORN IN A BUCKET! 

G2: Haha. So what were you trying to get for her? 

MC: It’s this thing called HSDS. It’s a cancer treatment that’s illegal, even though it’s supposed to work pretty good. They use it on cows, because they get cancer all the time and if they had no way to treat it without radiation then that would fuck up like half the meat and dairy in the country, which would fuck up the whole economy. 

G2: What is it a pill? 

MC: No it’s like a cream, usually, but they make it in pill forms. I guess it’s legal in a bunch of countries, just not here. I mean you can get it here, but you need some kind of agricultural license or something. I tried to buy it online and you can’t without a license number. So I’ve been trying to order it off the dark web, from Canadian pharmacies and shit but it’s way harder to get a hold of than you’d think. I never had this much trouble getting a hold of any other drug. Like I could get heroin tomorrow but cancer meds? No way. It’s like: Drugs to kill you? You can have those by the boat load. Drugs to keep you alive? Nice try pal. Not on our watch.

G2: So what are you gonna do? 

MC: Whatever I can do. I’ve got to do something. I moved out of my place to care for my mom, but she married this old fuck like two years ago who hates my guts. When she dies he’s gonna get the place and I don’t know what I’m gonna fucking do. My last land lord was cool man I never should have left that place. I don’t know how I’m gonna find another spot with the rent like it is.  But I couldn’t just not take care of my mom you know? 

(MC glances to the side while talking to G1 because he notices AS is giving him a flirty look) 

G1: Sorry man, I tried to get it but that’s more of an agricultural veterinary hospital thing and that’s not really what we do. I could probably order it technically, but my boss would want to know what was going on and I’d have no way to explain it. 

(While G1 is talking MC takes a pen and writes on a receipt and then begins folding it) 

MC: Fuck man. Thanks for trying. 

G1: No sweat. 

G2: What are you doing there? 

MC: I  put my phone number on this chick’s receipt. 

G1: You mean Ashley? 

MC: I think that’s her name. Let’s look at the receipt actually. (MC unfolds the receipt and reads the name on it) Yeah. Ashley Stevens. Fuck I’ve already had like four Ashelys in here. What am I gonna call her? Ashley S? That feels like we’re in the first grade or something. 

G2: I feel like once you get to four Ashleys you stop using letters.  We’ve got to start numbering them. 

G1: Yeah. And tagging. I mean they’ll need tags or we’ll never keep track of them. Just wall to wall Ashleys scampering around. You’re infested. 

MC: Haha. I think that’s what a bar is. Like if you start a bar you’re trying to get an Ashley infestation. 

G2: Maybe you’ve found the queen. 

MC: I’ll just have to get in that hive and find out. 

(MC holds up the receipt to reveal an origami swan) 

G1: Oh man. Fuck you. Are you serious? 

MC: You like that? 

G1: Who even knows how to do origami? 

MC: Dude I’m arts and crafts like a motherfucker. Chicks love that shit. You know how many times the origami phone number thing has worked for me? It never fails. 

G2: That is pretty slick. I never would have thought to do that. That’s like some Dirtbag Casanova shit. I can see chicks being into that. 

MC: You don’t even know. That’s why I started doing it. That’s how they are. Their nails, their shoes. They want to fucking decorate everything. I’m trying to get laid. I figured I’ll meet them where they’re at.   I started a Pinterest page where I dress my dick in little outfits. It’s got like ten thousand followers. 

G2: Haha. Shut the fuck up. 

MC: I’m serious. I put a little sailboat suit on it the other day. Took a picture of it with a little shovel on it so it looked like it was going to the beach. I got laid like three hours later. 

G1: Hahahaha! Jesus Christ. What a life. 

(MC sort of smiles like: I know right? And he peels off to hand AS his phone number. She takes it and smiles, a little surprised by the presentation in a flirty way. We can see but not hear them talking as the light over THE BAR dies down. 

The light over BOOTH 1 goes up and we can see SB looking over at MC while he talks with FB and ND. ND looks over his shoulder at the same thing SB is looking at; MC flirting with W2. ) 

ND: That’s something man. It works just like you said it would. You wrote that right there you know. What if he gets her pregnant? You know you could probably stamp your face on half the incoming babies in this town. Just post up in front of pussies in the delivery room like (ND pantomimes stamping) Bam! A Sam Broner creation. Get a brand going and maybe you can get the bar sponsored by the hospital. 

FB: Haha. I’ll admit. Your formula does seem to be working like a charm. 

SB: Yeah. I mean it works but don’t let the ding of the register fool you. It’s got plenty of head aches. Fucking bartenders are all drama queens. I’ll walk behind the bar to get something I need and Miles will be huffing and puffing around trying to show me how hard he’s working. And I don’t give a shit. The place is just supposed to make money. I don’t want to hear about every little piece of day to day bullshit. But everything is a fucking crisis with this guy. If we’re out of ice or the credit card machine is down or something, you’d think there was a live shooter in the next room. He comes at me with this stuff and I’m like: Yeah. Sounds like a job. Sounds like your job and not mine in fact. What did I hire you for if I still have to hear about all this shit? Like I go behind the bar while there’s like ten people here and he snaps at me like: Sam it’s fucking crazy busy right now! Like motherfucker if anyone loses money it’s me. It’s my fucking place. I’ll set the fucking thing on fire if I feel like it. Just give me the receipts. The less I have to hear about what happens here the better. But then it’s like Real Housewives just to get him to do normal shit.  I fucking told him to be here at two thirty for the Miller truck. He showed up at four forty five and he was like: Oh I had to take my mom to a doctor’s appointment. But I know for a fact he was high. Like he’s smiling at me while he says it, like I don’t know he’s gonna joke around with his friends later that having a sick mom is a get out of jail free card. Fucking rubbing his nose. Like I never did coke in my life. Like I haven’t been dealing with bartenders for the last fifteen years. You know he thinks because he fixes shit around here I can’t get a new guy, but I’m getting pretty sick of his shit. 

ND: I’ll tell you what. Let me make you a bet…

(The light fades over TABLE 2 as ND leans in to make S a proposition.) 

END SCENE

EXT. DIORAMA BAR. 

(We can hear but not see a car pull up. Off stage we hear the sound of a door closing and the tell tale beep beep of a car alarm being activated. GUY gets out of this car, dressed smartly in some kind of club going suitish looking ensemble. He approaches the front door and as he does PF begins to talk to him.)

PF: Jesus Christ that’s a nice fucking car man. Your car makes my house look like it’s homeless. 

G: Haha. Yeah. I just got it. I figured I’d do the thing where you drive up to some club with it and everyone ooh and ahhs. 

PF: Well mission fucking accomplished man. It feels like you came here with one of the transformers or something. I really like what you did with the vanity plate too. It’s great to meet someone with that much money and a sense of humor about his stuff. 

G: What vanity plate? 

PF: Your license plate. I’m saying it’s funny. I’m not trying to offend you or anything. 

G: I didn’t get a vanity plate. That’s just the plate they gave me at the DMV. 

PF: No. No it’s not. Are you serious? 

G: Yeah. What? What does it say? It doesn’t say anything. 

PF: Look. I think what you mean is that you didn’t get a vanity plate on purpose. Maybe you pissed off someone at the DMV. Who knows? 

G: You’re fucking with me. It doesn’t say anything. 

PF: Really? KGL CHMP. You don’t see anything there? 

G: What? 

PF: Well, you’re the Kegel Champ, obviously. 

G: No. 

PF: I guess you could be the Kegel Chimp if you really wanted to be. That would be a weird thing to insist on though. 

G: Goddamn it dude! Do you know how much money I spent on this fucking car? 

PF: I have no idea. I imagine it takes some real folding money to convince the autobots to drive you around everywhere. 

G: Come on man. That’s just you. Nobody else is gonna read it that way. 

PF: What do you think? I just have some non stop kegel aerobics class playing in mind that’s trying to decode the world for me? There are only so many vowels man. This is how vanity plates work. 

G: Okay. We’re gonna ask the next guy that comes out here what he thinks it says. 

PF: I already know what it says. I’m on to bigger better questions. Like what does your belt look like as the kegel champ? 

G: Haha. Shut up dude. 

PF: Is it a belt, or is it like one of those claw arms they give to people who can’t get out if their scooters? 

G: Oh jesus christ. 

PF: All pimped out with rhinestones on it. And you can like rip car doors off with it. See you on the five o’clock news, running backwards towards a five car pile up. (PF starts hobbling backwards and flexing) Local extreme sports hero saves grandmother…. 

G: I had to not go to Europe so I could buy this car. 

PF: Probably for the best. Doesn’t feel like they’re ready for that kind of anus gumption on the continent yet. Your asshole pulls itself up by its bootstraps. 

G: Look here comes somebody. 

(AS comes outside.)  

AS: …What is it? It feels like I’m walking into something here. 

PF: We need you to settle something for us. 

AS: Is this a trap? 

G: No. It’s just kind of a bet. 

PF: Yeah and if it was a trap, we’d be able to jaws of life you out of it lickety split. 

G: Haha. Shut the fuck up man. Just let her answer the fucking question. 

AS: What? 

G: Okay, do you see that car over there? (G points off stage) 

AS: The really nice one? 

G: Yes. Thank you. That’s my car. 

AS: Okay. It’s cool. Is that the bet? 

G: No. But that is the first thing you notice about it right? 

AS: Yeah. 

PF: Ask her about the plate. 

AS: What the license plate? 

PF: Yeah. 

G: Yeah. The license plate doesn’t say anything right? 

PF: Oh come on! Objection. Leading the witness. 

AS: I don’t know. What does it say? 

G: See? 

PF: Let me ask her. 

G: Fine. 

AS: What is this?

PF: Look, just look at the license plate. If that was a vanity plate, what do you think it would say? 

G: But that means she has to know it’s supposed to be a vanity plate then. 

PF: Hey you got your question. You let me do mine. 

AS: So you mean, if I thought somebody was trying to say something with their plate, what would that plate be trying to say? 

PF: Yeah. 

AS: Let’s see. OH. Oh. Haha. I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me. I don’t want to say it. 

G: What? 

AS: Is it like your wife’s car or something? 

G: Oh fuck. 

AS: Are you the Kegel Champ? 

PF: Hahah! BOOM! No. Thanks for playing though. The correct answer was actually Kegel Chimp. The reason involves a buddy cop movie with Clint Eastwood and Whoopie Goldberg. We can’t go into it here. 

G: You know, this has really sucked the life out of my cool entrance to the club. 

PF: Probably because you’re facing the wrong way. If I was the kegel champ I’d walk backwards everywhere. Use my claw belt like a monkey tail to climb trees and shit. 

AS: I don’t know. Would you even call this a club? Feels more like a bar. 

PF: Yeah, I mean, you probably way overshot the amount of car it was going to take to impress us. Really anything with all its windows would probably do it. 

(MC comes outside) 

PF: Hey man. Is Desi in there by herself right now? I thought Sam didn’t want bar backs serving by themselves. 

MC: No Sam’s back there with her. He told me to go home. 

PF: For real? Because you guys are fighting or what? 

(Guy ENTERS STAGE LEFT. He approaches PF)

G: Do I need to show you my ID or…? 

PF: You’re good man. (PF gestures inside and G walks in). 

MC: He didn’t say, but I think he might be trying to fire me right now. 

PF: You mean like now now? Like tonight? 

MC: I don’t know. It feels like this is the first one. He’s done this to me before. Like oh just take the night off. Like Sam I need the fucking tips dude. And he knows that. And then it’s like hey I’m not gonna need you tomorrow. And he just does that to me for a week until I don’t actually have a job anymore. 

PF: Who else is he gonna get to do it? 

AS: I’m going back in. 

PF: Sure. I’ll keep kegeling out here. I think I get the car if I win the title so… 

AS: Haha. 

(AS walks into DIORAMA) 

MC: That’s what I said. I fix half the shit in that bar. The pinball machine breaks down like once a week. You know how expensive it is to get repairmen for that kind of shit? I fix the fucking pinball table. The change machine. The fucking bar only has ice because I fucking rigged up the freezers with a bunch of shit I had in my garage. Nobody else is going to know how to keep them working but me. 

PF: Yeah and a lot of people come here because they like you. I mean I talk to people and they tell me about it. 

MC: I know man. I’m not an idiot. I get how my money works. I text like seven chicks a night with vague flirty shit. Like: Working tonight. Wink emoji. And a link to my dick’s pinterest page. They bring their friends. Do you know how much money that shit adds up to in a week? I mean I make this shit work. 

PF: That sounds like it would blow up in your face after a while. Do you not have to deal with any psycho bitch drama? 

MC: Please, these chicks are just thirsty. Bartender is a safe dick delivery system. They always know where you’re gonna be, they know you’ve got more options so you’re not gonna freak out on them. It’s safe. Besides if they start catching feelings I can always just be like: Cancer. My mom has cancer. And they just go: Oh. Oh my god of course. A mom with cancer is like a get out of jail free card. 

PF: Haha. Yeah I bet. That would totally work on me. 

(W begins approaching from off stage. We can hear but not see him at first.) 

W: Fucking catholic charities my ass! The Catholics are already a charity for child molesters. What do you think I’m out here screaming for? 

MC: You know what I should do is fucking take my tip money and give it to these homeless guys. Let Sam tend bar to these guys all night. 

PF: But I can’t let them in while he’s here. 

MC: Relax dude. I’ll fucking take them and clean them up a little bit. I mean what’s wrong with that? I’ve got like a hundred fifty bucks in tips from tonight. I can blow it on these guys. They’ll have money. And you can just say that I told you he said it was alright if he gets pissed at you. 

PF: Alright man. I guess. 

MC: Yeah and I got a couple of adderall burning a hole in my pocket. Sam’s gonna have a fucking blast tonight. 

PF: Haha. Oh shit. You do you man. I just fucking work here. 

(W ENTERS STAGE RIGHT) 

W: I’m coming in that fucking bar!  

(MC takes some dollar bills out of his pocket and approaches W) 

MC: I would love to see that happen. Let’s walk and talk. When was the last time you shaved dude? 

(MC and W turn around and walk together. They EXIT STAGE RIGHT.) 

END SCENE

INT. DIORAMA BAR. 

(SB sits behind the bar while ND sits in front of it. Two men sit at the end of the bar. They are not talking to anyone. A woman RANDOM CHICK approaches the bar.) 

RC: Is Miles working tonight? 

SB: No. 

RC: He told me he’d be here. 

SB: Well the booze is still here if you’d like some of that. 

(RC gives S a kind of stinky face and takes out her phone while she turns to talk to her friend) 

RCF: I thought he texted you. 

RC: He did. 

(The two of them walk to BOOTH 2 without drinks) 

ND: See the problem is that you’re betting against yourself. I’m really just here to clean up on a game that you rigged for me. 

SB: Hey the night is young asshole. All I’ve gotta do is make as much in tips as Miles does on average night. That’s two hundred bucks max. That’s nothing. You think those two chicks are just gonna sit at a booth with no drinks all night long? Someone is buying for them. That’s how this works. Give it time. 

ND: You said yourself the night is young. He left here with what? One fifty? You like those odds do ya? 

SB: Hey you know your business, I know mine. I’ll make two hundred like I’m changing a light bulb. Watch. 

ND: You know I didn’t put two and two together until I heard you talk about this guy, but the other day one of my loan officers was like: “Today this asian guy with sleeve tattoos submitted a loan application for a trailer and I wanted to be like I’m sorry. You want Methlabs International. They’re on the other side of town.” We all cracked up about it, but as I’m sitting here thinking about it, it’s gotta be Miles. You said he’s gonna be out of his house soon right? 

SB: That’s what he says. When his mom dies he’ll have to go. I’m not sure I buy it honestly. The guy is always working some angle on me. Feels like it’s just more ‘woe is me’ bullshit. 

ND: It’s definitely him then. She said the guy worked at a bar. She asked me how to rate the stability of income for tip based jobs. And now look, if I win the bet, his job will be stable, and at least on paper I’ll have every reason to approve his loan. I mean if I win, then I’m right. You do actually need him for this to be the most profitable business it can be, and if you fire him you’d be basically buying the right to hate him at the expense of your business’s long term financial viability. You say all you care about is the money. I bet that you’re wrong. If I’m right he keeps his job and if he’s got a job that pays him over two hundred a night in a reliable way, then he’s got a loan, which means he’ll have a home. What happens in the next few hours is what people want to know when some asshole is pushing a shopping cart full of his stuff around and they’re like: “What the fuck happened to that guy?” Crazy. 

SB: So you are Methlabs International then? You’ve gotta be kidding me you’re gonna loan this guy money. 

ND: Hey it’s for like ten grand. I wipe my ass with that kind of money. I’ll do it just to laugh in your face every time we play poker for the rest of our lives. 

(RANDOM CHICK 2 approaches the bar and then looks a little surprised)

RC2: Hey. No Miles tonight? 

SB: Goddamn it.  

RC2: What? 

SB: Nothing. What can I get for you? 

RC2: Ummm….. I’ll be back actually. Give me a second. 

(RC2 walks away) 

ND: Never bet against yourself man. It’s a rookie mistake. 

SB: Keep talking Trailer Park. Hey you can call the paradise you’re creating Crystal Castles. We’ll stamp your face on the open sores of its all star residents. 

ND: Sorry I didn’t hear you. I think there was a tumbleweed blowing by. 

END SCENE. 

EXT. DIORAMA BAR. 

(The wall is moved from STAGE LEFT to STAGE RIGHT so that we’re in our exterior setting. 

STAGE LEFT we can see but not hear PF sitting on his stool and messing with his phone and occasionally checking ID’s as people filter in and out of the bar. The lights are low over this part of the stage. 

STAGE RIGHT we can see and hear MC and W as they sit opposite one another on milk crates. MC has a torch lighter and a clear glass pipe he’s hitting and spinning. He passes it to W. As each character talks, their speech becomes more rapid. The lights are up over this part of the stage). 

MC: Yeah man it’s fucked up you know what I mean? I mean I barely even know this guy you know? I just know that he’s some douchebag that my mom married who, I met the fucking guy like two years ago, and now he’s going to get the fucking house I grew up in and he won’t even help me take care of her even though it’s like it’s your fucking wife dude. She’s my mom. Can you make some fucking soup or something? But he literally just sits around and is old. I see him frown at the newspaper sometimes, but that’s it and he barely even moves while he does that.  I swear to god he’s actually a fucking cacoon or something, I mean what else to do you call a big wrinkly pile of shit that doesn’t move but is technically alive? 

(W passes the pipe back to MC) 

W: Yeah man I know what you mean. I-

MC: Are you cool man? 

W: I’m cool why would I not be cool? 

MC: I don’t know you just seem like clearer than before, like we started smoking and you’re like here now in this way you weren’t before. 

W: Yeah man I get like that when I do this shit. I mean it’s fucked up living out here you know? I got problems. When I get my shit together though I’m alright. I used to get shit like this prescribed. 

MC: You mean adderall? 

W: Fuck yeah Adderal. My therapist gave that shit before I ever smoked like this. I’d take like seven of those things at a time just to get straight. It’s literally just meth. The chemical formulas are fucking identical. People fucking out here talking shit to me while they give the same shit to their kids like its a Flinstones vitamin. 

MC: Yeah if you get a hall pass from your doctor it becomes magically okay. And meanwhile I can’t get the drugs I need for my fucking mom no matter what I do. 

W: What drugs do you need? 

MC: Well I don’t know if they’ll actually fucking work or not, I’m just trying to try fucking anything. People use them in other places and like they use them on cattle and shit when they get cancer. I just feel like it’s worth a shot. I mean she’s fucking dying regardless if I don’t try so what could possibly be more dangerous than that that they can’t even let me fucking try this stuff? 

W: Come on man. These people don’t give a fuck about us. They don’t give a fuck what we need the drugs for. They just want to live out some bullshit fantasy where they get to slam some guy’s head into the fucking pavement. That’s what I’m saying man. The same shit happened to me that’s happening to you. I was living at my dad’s house in the fucking in law unit type smaller house that they had in the back. 

MC: I thought you said you used to be a priest. 

W: I did used to be a priest. 

MC: So then why were you living at your dad’s house? Don’t priests live in the church or whatever? 

W: We live in rectories, which are living quarters that are usually attached to churches, but I was kicked out of the rectory. 

MC: For what? 

W: For reporting it when I found a bunch of kiddie porn on the fucking computer we’re all supposed to use. I fucking know who it was too, but the bishop was like; oh we need you to take some time off while the investigation is pending. But he was full of shit. They just don’t want to tell you you’re fired you know? I mean I’m a catholic priest. What the fuck else am I gonna do? I’ve got no kids. Am I gonna go get a job at a Subway or something until they let me back in my house? So I went and stayed with my dad. I know for a fact they didn’t report that shit to the police either, because no one has ever tried to ask me any questions about it. 

MC: (hitting the pipe and passing it) That’s fucked up. You always hear about shit like that but you never think about what it actually looks like when it goes down. Like you want to go; well I guess they’re not all bad, but then it’s like, you weren’t bad. You actually tried to be good and they fucking threw your ass into the street.

W: Yeah. Well technically it’s the cops that threw me into the street.

MC: What from your dad’s house? That’s right you said your dad died or that he had cancer or something. 

W: No. No he never had cancer I was just living with him and I got heavy into drugs and they fucking raided the property because they thought I was dealing. 

MC: For real? Like a full blown raid? 

W: Yeah the whole thing. Flash bang grenades and fucking guns out and get on the floor and all of that shit. I mean I know I was using, but I was still a fucking priest at the time. I don’t know if you know this but guys who give their lives to turning the other cheek tend not to be terribly vicious fighters when push comes to shove.

MC: Haha. Right. 

W: It was like the whole thing was happening at Disneyland or something, except I was actually getting arrested.  

MC: Yeah that intent to distribute thing sucks. I mean they don’t have to prove that you were actually going to sell it to anyone, it’s just an amount of shit and you’re a dealer. And what do you even say? I’m over here like; dude. Do you know how long I’ve been doing drugs? It takes a lot to fuck me up, and I hate actually buying the shit. 

W: Haha. Yeah but do drug number one and you’re a piece of shit to these people. You try to talk about any part of it to them after that and they just look at you like you’re showing them the turd in your sandwich. 

MC: Haha. So you weren’t selling then, I take it. 

W: No but I had dealers coming over to my house. I mean it looked really bad. Well I mean it was one dealer I guess. He was a parishioner of mine actually. He was a gym teacher and he came to church and shit so he flew under the radar for a long time. But you know how that shit goes. I mean guys are playing sports, they want fucking roids, and then they want painkillers and shit. And I mean there are scholarships at stake, there are tickets to sell. They can justify that shit to themselves for a long time. He only sells to students, only charges them cost at first. But then those students go to college and now he’s selling to college kids and now they want painkillers because they’re fucking their knees up and shit and now he’s selling all kinds of shit and he’s getting contacts and he’s charging more than cost and he’s got a serious stash in his house. And these football playing ex students of his are not afraid to put the fear of god into people who are owing him money, especially if it keeps them in painkillers when NFL scouts are coming around to watch them play. So in this guy’s head he’s still going to church and teaching gym and shit, and this is just some side hustle thing he’s doing that’s really kind of a mentorship thing. But realistically he’s got a miniature little mafia going and he’s being looked at. And he doesn’t know it because he kind of doesn’t want to know it you know? But the kids at his school, which his kid goes to while he’s teaching there, they know what the fuck is up. And his kid is hooked on his painkillers and he doesn’t even notice, because the kid is dipping into his dad’s stache and replacing the pills he steals with sugar pills. You know what I mean. I mean kids get great at lying to their parents, especially when they’re that age. I think he was a sophomore at the time. And then one day he comes home and his son is fucking O.D. in his room. And he’s all fucked up about it. 

MC: Fuck. You said the guy was a gym teacher here? 

W: Yeah. 

MC: Where, at Elsie Allen? 

W: No at Analy. 

MC: Fuck. I was gonna say. I thought I might know who you’re talking about. 

W: No. I doubt it anyway. 

MC: Fucking they’re all like that though. Like have you ever heard of a school that didn’t have at least one creepy gym teacher? There’s always one, and there’s always some ghost story level rumor about what they’ve got going on on the side. It’s in the air or something. Like we can just smell that they’re dirtbags. 

W: Yeah. I mean this guy wasn’t that bad. It didn’t seem like it to me anyway. He kind of just got caught up in something he shouldn’t have and then before he had the balls to back out of it just because it was the right thing to do it was like: Bam. Your kid is fucking dead. 

MC: That’s fucked up. I don’t wish that on anybody. 

W: Yeah. That’s how I got into drugs in the first place. His kid dies and he feels like shit about it so he comes to me. I’m his priest. He can confess to me and even the police can’t make me tell them what he said. It’s a freedom of religion thing. Confession is a sacrament for catholics. You can say shit to your priest you can’t say to your therapist without your therapist going to the cops. Now you know, ethics leaves what we do with the information up to us, but it is up to us. So he brings me his whole stash of pills, the pills that killed his son you know? And he’s weeping. I mean this is a grown man, and he’s on his knees just crying his fucking eyes out in front of me in my dad’s guest house. And he’s like: I swear to God I’ll never touch another pill in my life. Please take them. Please take them and forgive me. And what am I gonna do you know? Am I gonna report this guy to the police to go to prison for the rest of his life because his son was a drug addict behind his back? So I did it. I took the stache and I forgave him.  But then it’s like, now I’ve got this huge bag of drugs in my living room. I’ve got no job because my religion is full of fucking child molesting scumbags and I’m still all fucked up from the war so. It was kind of a perfect storm. 

MC: The war? What do you mean the war? I thought you were a priest dude. 

W: I was a fucking priest dude. I was an army chaplain before I came back here. 

MC: You were fucking not. 

W: Yes I fucking was. 

MC: Where did you fucking serve then? 

W: I was in Mosul mostly. In Iraq. 

MC: Yeah but I mean, you don’t see any trigger time as a chaplain do you? I would think that’s probably one of the safer jobs you could have in a war zone. 

W: Yeah? Why don’t you take your ass to Alqueida country with a white neck collar on and see how safe you fucking feel? 

MC: Oh yeah. I didn’t even think about that. Do they like target priests or something? 

W: I mean I can’t say what it’s like in other places but they targeted me. It was more like they targeted any local people that they saw talking to me or that they thought were trying to cooperate with us. It’s fucked up. You go there and you’re trying to do what Jesus did you know? I mean Roman empire. Those guys weren’t fucking around. They’ll nail you to a fucking post under a sign that makes fun of you just so people know not to fuck with them. That’s our whole symbol. You have to be willing to do that to even call yourself a christian and I didn’t just call myself one. I was a fucking priest. I was fresh out of seminary. I was ready to get into the cut and do god’s work. But it’s not your cheek you’re turning. You literally can’t help anyone, because whoever you try to help is dead and they’re dead because you tried to help them. Dead if they’re lucky. 

MC: What do you mean dead if they’re lucky? 

W: See this is what people don’t get about the war out there. We’re an army. An army is a thing that a government has. These guys have no government. They’re just killing, like on this post apocalyptic level that it’s hard for us to get. They will literally get medieval on you. Like I tried to teach this guy to become a priest and this local sunni militia cut his fucking fingers off and sent them to me in a box full of dates. They used to do shit like that in the middle ages, because you used to only be able to touch the host with your three fingers because it’s like the actual body of god and you’re not worthy to touch it. I don’t know if they knew that or not, but it’s kind of a moot point. That’s where they were at in the way they were doing things. 

MC: Oh fuck. You mean you got a box with his actual fingers in it? 

W: Yeah. I mean, I don’t know how much it was all my fault because the dude was an imam before he met me, which is a shia thing and the guys that did it were sunni and that shit runs deep with them. 

MC: Yeah I always hear those two words but I literally have no idea what they mean, besides that they’re the two kinds of muslim and they’re supposed to hate each other. 

W: Yeah. I mean it’s Catholics and protestants basically. It’s pretty much the same thing. Like the shia are the guys who are the catholics, where the Catholics are like: We can trace our shit back to Saint Peter. We are direct descendants of the actual guys who knew Jesus. And kind of that’s bullshit. It’s more like the catholics were the first official christian franchise, and then eventually they lost their monopoly on it. The shia are the same thing. They’re like: only direct descendants of Muhammed can be in charge of what’s actually Islam and what isn’t. But kind of it’s more like they’re the ones who have a really centralized franchise, where you have to go to school to be an imam and the schools are controlled by shias the way rectories have to have a chain of command that goes back to the Vatican to be catholics. They’re the ones that write opinions about what the Koran means and then if you have beef with someone else you settle it by proving that this is what the Koran says about it according to these twenty opinions written by these imams from classy official schools. It’s basically the same thing you do if you go to court here, where you have to cite precedent from other cases to argue and only judges can write precedent, except they can’t pass any new laws, they can only interpret the Koran, which is like they’re constitution. Sunnis are more of a down home kind of thing. They think that it’s not a genetic connection to muhammed that’s important for leadership, but sticking to the spiritual legacy that he stuck to. Like don’t tell me that’s what the book says you fucking snob is sort of how they look at the rivalry. I mean think about North Ireland right now. That’s a Catholics versus Protestants military conflict that’s dug deep in there, even though they’re all Irish or English or both and all this other criss-crossing clan identity shit. This is basically the same kind of thing where the shia are the centralized church that kicks back to a pope-like kind of organization of clerics and the sunnis are like fuck a bunch of that, we’re just gonna have our own churches and make our own minds up about the book, the way the protestants do, where there are different kinds of sunni you can be, but you’re still not part of “the church” that the shia are from. 

MC: So you guys kind of bonded on that then huh? Because he was a shia and you were a catholic? 

W: Yeah I mean we talked about it, obviously. That’s how I know all that shit. His name was Faisal. His mother was a christian actually. She was from Egypt originally and she moved to Iraq, which was cool under Sadaam, because he was a Baathist and they were real motherfuckers, but they didn’t actually give a shit about religion. They were a secular thing. 

MC: I didn’t know that. 

W: Yeah nobody really does. We kind of just hear “middle east” and we go: Terrorism! AH! Where is football? I need some football.  

MC: Haha! Yeah I don’t give a fuck about football but I know what you mean. It does sort of seem like it’s all one big boogey man. 

W: Yeah we just assume that the sides are pro and anti american, but these dudes have all kinds of beef with each other that goes back a long way. 

MC: So his mom didn’t convert to christianity or anything, then. She was a middle east christian, old school style. 

W: Yeah we forget that they’ve been doing christianity out there since before Europe had even heard of it. They’re a minority in the region but they’re a big minority and they’re from there. They’re kind of like blacks in the US, really. Like that’s our biggest minority and we expect them to be part of the bigger political conversation somewhere. 

MC: That makes sense. 

W: Yeah so he’s in Iraq with his mom under Sadam and she doesn’t wear a head scarf and it’s not a big deal, because it’s a fucked up society, but it’s a fucked up secular society. They’re on you for different shit. But then after Sadam is gone it’s like the Americans are there, but are they the government? Not really. You probably shouldn’t try to shoot them or anything but they’re not really settling day to day beefs that people have. So now it’s like alright. We’re free. Free to do what? Practice our religion. But then like what does that mean? Does that mean you have to cover your head because we’re muslims now? Faisal’s mom didn’t think so. I mean that’s what happened. She was basically having that conversation with a bunch of muslim guys and you know how it is. I mean I’m a priest and I’ve gotten into screaming debates about religion over here. People get heated. She was like look. You’re muslim. They’re your fucking rules. You put the fucking scarf on. And the dude she was arguing with called her a whore so she slapped him. And the dude cocked back and punched her in the face and knocked her out cold. She went into a coma and then never woke up. And it’s like, well she hit him first. And she’s a woman. What does the Koran say? And surprise surprise it says the guy who did it gets to walk away like nothing happened. And I don’t think he ever forgot that. Like I think he was becoming an imam so he could never get out opinioned again on some shit like that. But then we show up and it’s like. We’ve got a bunch of guns. We’re christians. We’re from a secular society that wants to let people have their religion here. And then he met me and I really got where he was coming from you know? We bonded on the catholics and shias thing. He told me about his mom. I was like the only thing I want to do here is good. You are my brother in Christ and I love you. 

MC: Fuck dude. And they sent you his fucking fingers? 

W: Yeah. I mean I got the box with the fingers in it and I never saw Faisal again after that. So. Like the thing didn’t have a note in it. It was more like some shit they’d do in the godfather. You know that part where that guy opens the thing with the fish in it and it’s like; oh fuck. They threw his body in the ocean. Like they want the whole thing to read as a practical joke or something. But like the punchline is we killed your friend. 

MC: Adding insult to injury I guess. 

W: Yeah. That’s what it is huh? Gotta twist the knife. That shit works too. That’s the fucked up part. Like don’t get me wrong. If I had just heard that they killed him I’d still have been really fucked up about it. But it is a war. People die. But it was the way they gave me that shit. Like I was with a squad of soldiers at the time and we were getting close to this village and this dude walks up with the package of dates and it’s open you know? He’s eating from it. It seems fine. It seems like a peace offering. And the guy is like. I love what you guys are doing here. Asalaam alaikum. Sadam was the worst and all of this. But it sounds pretty coached you know? And the whole time he’s eye ball fucking our whole set up. And my dumb ass. I’m thinking I found another Faisal you know? He leaves the dates with me and goes back into his place which is like a good walk away. I mean he’s getting small when he gets back there. And the whole time he’s walking I’m eating these dates and the guys I’m with are starting to get weirded out. They’re like, that guy seemed like he was gathering intel. And hey it’s a war zone. You better be paranoid you know? But I’m like oh, people just can’t accept that there are some Faisals in the world. That guy seemed nice. And as I’m thinking that I look in the box and I’m like: what the fuck? And I see the finger just right fucking there pointing at me. And they must have been watching us through scopes because as soon as my face went all crazy we started taking heavy fire. One of our guys got shot in the hand and he ended up losing it. 

MC: That is some heavy shit.

W: (hitting the pipe and passing it) You’re fucking telling me dude. And then it’s like I’m in my dad’s house back here because of this absolute fucking slime that should be in prison for fucking ever, some fucking chi mo that’s my boss and it’s like; I got some guy’s fingers fucking cut off so he could be a part of this? And it was just too fucking much for me, just to sit there and have to fucking know all that shit at once. I still have the fucking fingers too. 

MC: No fucking way. For real? 

W: Yeah. I fucking cut the pages out of a bible and put them in there and then I mailed the bible back to myself at the rectory in a package with a bunch of other shit in it. It’s funny like you see that shit in movies and you never think that you’ll ever actually have to do it, but then I was like; I have to keep these. I can’t just throw them away. What am I gonna do? I think that’s when it started for me really. Like I remember cutting the pages out of the bible and being like; this is more important. And then it was like; so what is god then if he’s not the most important thing? What’s my religion? 

MC: Religions are fucked man. Look at all that shit you got caught up in because of religion. 

W:Yeah but what are we doing now you know? (W raises the pipe) I mean wine is a drug. It’s part of a ritual. This is a drug. This is a ritual. I mean we’re making peace with each other right now aren’t we? 

MC: Fuck I guess so. It’s not the same thing though. It just doesn’t feel right to call it the same thing. 

W: I don’t even fucking know anymore man. I lost my life praying to this shit. They took my dad’s boat off the property as part of the raid because they said I bought it with drug money or something. They don’t even have to prove that shit anymore. They can just take your stuff. 

MC: Yeah. Civil asset forfeiture it’s called. That stuff is a bitch. It’s like, I swear we had a constitution just a second ago. Isn’t this exactly what it’s for? 

W: He needed it too. He was running a crabbing business and paying his mortgage with the money. He lost the house. He said he was going to maybe live with my aunt but I haven’t heard from him and I don’t have a phone or any of that shit. I don’t know where he is or if he’s alive or dead or what. Not that he wants to see me. I don’t think he’d stop walking if he saw me on the street. 

MC: Fuck dude. And I’m over here thinking I got problems. I feel like you just need a fucking break. 

W: Yeah. Well. You know. Let me know if you find one anywhere. I mean this shit helps (W raises the pipe) you did that for me.

MC: Yeah. But what about like a shower and a shave? I could fucking take you back to my spot and let you shower and shave. 

W: Okay. And you’re not going to try to fuck me or anything right? I mean no offense to you but I’ve been burned on offers like this before. 

MC: No man. You don’t have to worry about me. What I do kind of need from you though is to take me to wherever the camps are these days. I want to lay a bunch of drinking money on some homeless people and have them bum rush the bar. 

W: Why do you want to do that? 

MC: I’m just in some shit with my boss right now and I’m trying to prove a point. 

W: Okay. So all I gotta do is shower and shave and then go drink at a bar and you’re buying? 

MC: That’s the deal. 

W: I could use a hot shower man.

MC: Let’s do it. 

(MC and W stand up and exit STAGE RIGHT) 

END SCENE

EXT. DIORAMA BAR. 

(We can see but not hear as PF, RR, RC2, G2, E, and AS are outside smoking and talking. We hold on them for a few seconds and over them we can hear the voice of W who remains out of sight.) 

W: It’s fine. You’re doing him a favor. Your friend. He’s your friend. Yes he is. You got high together. That’s not nothing. You gotta be on one side of something to smoke meth with somebody. Why am I nervous? I used to speak to whole crowds of people. But they were locked in. Everyone wants to listen when hell is outside. I’m outside. Hell is what it feels like to be locked out forever. Maybe it’s the speed. I’m in hell. Hell. Hell. Hell. So get out. Let’s go inside. It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine just act normal. God what the fuck is normal? I’ve never had sex. What do you even do in a bar? Just be nice. You can do nice. Stop thinking everyone is out to get you. Nobody gives a fuck about you man. Like you forgot. Miles is your friend. Do you ever want to get off the street? One person giving a shit about you at a time is the only way that’s ever going to happen. It’s the only difference. He knows how this place works. He wasn’t lying to you. He was like…

(W ENTERS STAGE LEFT. He is dressed in a pair black dickies and a clean, white, long sleeve shirt. He is clean shaven. The other characters remain unhearable to the audience, but the detached voice of W is now replaced by the detached voice of MC (MCV). W walks silently while it speaks overhead.) 

MCV: You’re good man. You’re good. Don’t roll up on them too quick. Just pull off to the side and smoke a cigarette like you’re a part of the bar crowd already. Wait for things to pick up and then slip in while they’re juggling. 

(W casually walks to the side and leans up against the wall while he lights a cigarette.) 

MCV: You’re a natural dude. You’re really helping me out here. Report this shit back to me later. I’m gonna fucking eat it up with a spoon. Now tune into what they’re saying. When the fireworks start you weasel your way in there. 

(The characters at the front of the bar now become audible to us) 

AS: No I’m telling you a club and a bar are the same thing. The only difference is how fancy you think it is. It’s like a cake and wedding cake are both still cake. It’s just that one is supposed to be all shi shi somehow. 

RR: No but you can put bars into things. Like you can put a bar on a boat or in a hotel. 

AS: Yeah but you can put club houses into things too if you want. And wherever you put a bar, the people are still supposed to be twenty one, so all bars are a ‘no highschoolers allowed’ club. 

RR: I guess so. 

(Barely noticeable, HOMELESS GUY1 ENTERS STAGE LEFT. His clothes are dirty and he’s carrying a large backpack. He lurks silently at the fringe of the stage.) 

PF: Yeah but I mean, there are levels right? Like look at me. If you walk up to this place and you see me standing at the door, you’re not like rushing to tuck your shirt in. 

(Everybody kind of laughs) 

E: Right, you look like an usher at a funeral for the eighties. 

PF: Hahaha. Shut up bitch. 

E: Why, what are you gonna do? Throw your walkman at me? 

PF: Hahaha. Look I’m not sort of radical. I’m totally radical. It’s the tomahawk dunk of lifestyle choices. You go big or you go home. 

RC2: It is kind of hard to see anyone with a denim vest getting on their high horse about letting people into somewhere. 

G2: Right what would they even say? 

RR: If anything it would work from the other direction like: Excuse me sir, do you have a broken washing machine in your front yard? I’m sorry but we have a two rusty yard appliance minimum. 

PF: (Side thumbs G2) Yeah like psshh. Look at this guy. ‘Oh I’ve never set anyone’s hair on fire.’ One side dude. We’ve got standards. 

G2: Hahaha. 

(ASHLEY 3 ENTERS STAGE LEFT. She is carrying a man’s jacket.) 

PF: Hey Ashley. What’s going on? Oh shit is that it? 

A3: That’s it. 

PF: No fucking way. (PF takes the jacket and opens it so he can read the back.) 

A3: Yeah. Sorry it took so long but I really wanted to get it right. 

PF: Well you fucking nailed it. 

RR: You are not gonna wear that. 

PF: Uh fucking try and stop me dude. (PF puts the jacket on and turns around. He points at the patch on the back with both thumbs over his shoulder. On it is an ornate tiger’s head. On the top is the word “TOTAL” and on the bottom is the word “PUSSY”.) Read it and weep busters. 

G2: Hahahaha. So you’re trying to flip it around is that it? Like you’re a ferocious cat? 

PF: No you’ve got it wrong. It’s like total pussy. Like the whole thing. 

RR: I don’t know anybody else who would voluntarily put on a big sign that says total pussy on it. 

PF: Whatever dude. Your glass is half empty as usual. 

E: I don’t know with the tiger on it it kind of seems like you’re saying that your pussy is totaled. Like you just wreck those fucking things. 

PF: Haha. (High fives E) Yes. I should probably get a little patch on the front that says “free estimates”. 

G2: I don’t know I kind of like it more as like a shrine to pussy as a force of nature. Like it’s saying total pussy, instead of like Namaste or something. 

PF: See Ryan. You just have to look on the bright side of things. My two girls one cup is half full.  

AS: Hahaha. Gross. 

PF: I told you. Classiest bar in town. 

(HG1 approaches the front) 

HG1: Hey. 

PF: What’s up? 

HG1: I want to get in. 

PF: Yeah. I’m probably not gonna be able to do that for you dude. 

AS: I’m going inside. 

HG1: I have money. I just want a drink and I’ll go. 

PF: Look man. I get that. I do… 

(HG 2 and HG3 ENTER STAGE LEFT. They are not seen by PF.) 

E: I’m going in too.

PF: But my boss is here and he’s just not trying to hear that shit. 

HG1: So my money is no good or what? (HG1 holds up a fist full of dollars)

PF: Well-

HG2: What about our money?  (HG2 and HG3 are both holding up fistfulls of dollar bills.)

(JR ENTERS STAGE RIGHT poking his head out from the interior of DIORAMA)  

JR: Is there a problem out here? 

PF: It’s chill man it’s fine. It’s just Sam is not gonna be happy if I let these guys in. 

(HG 4, HG 5, HOMELESS WOMAN 1, AND HG 6 ENTER STAGE LEFT. They each have a fist full of singles. They stand behind the other homeless guys and it starts to feel menacing.) 

MCV: Now is your shot man. Go. 

(W walks up smiling and shrugging with his hands kind of in the air.) 

W: Hey can I slide through here? I just want to get back to my drink. 

PF: Yeah man go ahead. 

(W filters inside.) 

MCV: Perfect. 

PF: (Yelling behind him) Hey Sam can you come out here! Dude will you… 

(JR goes inside, HW2, HG 7 and HG 8 ENTER STAGE LEFT. They all carry handfuls of dollars.) 

HG2: I don’t understand what the problem is. 

PF: Hey you and me both brother. I just work here. I hate this part of it. If I could change it I would. 

(S ENTERS STAGE RIGHT from the interior of DIORAMA) 

S: What’s the problem here? 

PF: I’ve told these guys that you don’t want them in here and I guess they would like to know why that is. 

S: Because it’s my fucking business and I fucking said so that’s fucking why. If you don’t like it I can have the fucking police explain it to you. 

HG1: But I’ve got money right here. We all do. Look. 

(The homeless people raise their fists with cash.) 

S: What do you think is a poetry slam? You can put your fucking fist in the air all day. I’m not gonna fucking reupholster my entire bar to make an eight dollar profit in coors light sales. And I don’t have to explain myself to this fucking trash anyway. Leave or I’m calling the cops. That’s it. 

HW1: You know you gotta big fucking mouth man. 

S: Oh yeah? 

HG2: Hey you better watch how you talk to her. 

HG3: Yeah what the fuck you think this fucking Buckingham Palace or something? 

HG4: What if we just come in anyway? Huh big shot? 

HG5: You think you’re fucking better than us? 

(HG5 yanks at S’s forearm. S stumbles forward a little but keeps his arm stiff. Something covered in a brown paper bag suddenly thuds on the wall between S and PF’s heads. HG4 reaches forward and yanks on PF who stumbles forward a little like S did. Both men are just trying to hold their ground. The bum rush begins. S and PF find themselves yanked and shoved from all directions, until they’re basically being tossed around. First HG1 makes it in. Then HG2, 3, and 4. PF goes in to chase after them. As he does S falls over and the rest of the crew comes rushing in behind him) 

END SCENE

INT. DIORAMA BAR. CONT. FROM IMMEDIATELY BEFORE.  

(The stage wall is moved from STAGE RIGHT to STAGE LEFT. We see the whole crew sitting at or immediately around the bar, with their singles still visible in their hands. A confused D is staring back at them. PF is standing at the spot where bartenders go behind the actual bar, trying to make sure no one goes past. FB and ND stare on in earnest from BOOTH 1. FB begins to dial and then talk on her phone, though we can’t hear what she says. W sits silently at BOOTH 2. Nobody seems to notice him.  The rest of the patrons are nervously silent. One by one they all begin to leave. S ENTERS STAGE LEFT.) 

S: Alright. That’s it! I’m calling the police. 

D: Oh for Christ sake Sam. Look at their hands. They all have enough money for one beer and a dollar tip. If I serve them now, they’ll be out of here by the time the cops get here and nobody will have to kick and scream. That’s what you want right? If I serve you all will you leave? 

HG crew (in unicen but not W): Yeah!

D: Okay? 

S: You handle them how you want to handle them. I’m calling the police. 

(D begins setting up beers for the new patrons. S walks back to BOOTH 1, where ND and FB are sitting. He sits down. )

FB: I already called the police for you. They said they’d be right over. 

SB: Thank you. 

ND: Hey so what’s that tip count looking like right now? 

S: Man. Shut the fuck up.

ND: No listen I love what you’ve done with the place. If you want to do a remodel for your new clients, maybe set a couple flaming garbage cans up in the middle here, I know someone at Methlabs International that might loan you the money. 

S: I bet you this was Miles. I mean where did all these guys randomly get all these singles? I don’t know how he did it but it was him. 

FB: Oh you can’t just say that. 

S: Well what is it then? Did some stripper suddenly get a heart of gold or something? Where is all this money and the idea to come here with it at the same time coming from? 

FB: Maybe it’s a protest. 

ND: Oh give me a fucking break. A protest of what? 

FB: How should I know? Maybe that’s the protest, that we don’t even get what they’re pissed off about. 

ND: That’s stupid. That would be like me protesting the second grade until they learned long division. Like if there’s something important we don’t get, yelling at us for not knowing it doesn’t teach it to us. What’s the difference between raising awareness that you’re pissed off and throwing a temper tantrum? If that doesn’t work when you’re three, why is it going to work now? 

FB: Look I’m not saying it’s a great protest. It just sort of feels like that’s what it is. 

SD: Whatever the fuck it is, it’s not gonna be here long enough to make a point. All my chamber of commerce dues are paid up, and the station is like four blocks from here. The last thing the city wants is some yelp review that says shit like this goes down in Santa Rosa. That’s bad for everyone’s business.  The cops are gonna be here in no time flat. You can believe that. 

(The characters continue to talk, but their voices go silent. All we can hear is the detached MCV, explaining the unfolding events to W. DF continues to give cheap cans of beer to the HG crew.) 

MCV: Hear that? The cops are coming. You just do like I tell you and you’re gonna make it out of this just fine. Fuck you don’t have a drink. That’s a problem. Gotta pay to play man. Alright. Just keep smiling. We’ll fix it after everyone is gone. Don’t smile so much. People aren’t that happy. Smirk. Look like you’re about to smile. Just don’t move. Don’t look like you want anything. 

(Two policemen, POLICE OFFICER 1 AND POLICE OFFICER 2 ENTER STAGE LEFT. S stands up and walks over to them. They talk briefly. S gestures over to BOOTH 1 and then to the rest of the bar. He makes a sweeping motion with his arms like he’s making a wave in a pool. PF walks up to S. S points outside. PF EXIT STAGE LEFT ) 

MCV: Looks like it’s starting. Just stay cool. This isn’t happening to you. You’re not one of them. Don’t react to it and it won’t be happening to you. Don’t act like them and you won’t be them. Act like me. Be one of us. 

(The two policemen walk to the center of the bar. One of them looks like he’s making an announcement. Every time this man says a word, MCV jumps in volume.) 

MCV: ALRIGHT. ALRIGHT. IT LOOKS LIKE THEY MEAN BUSINESS HERE. THOSE GUYS AT THE BAR ARE NOT PAYING ATTENTION. ONE OF THEM IS GOING TO GET TASERED AND SHIT HIS PANTS. THE OTHER ONE IS GOING TO GET DRUG OUTSIDE AND CRACKED IN THE FUCKING HEAD. Okay but it looks like most of them are picking up shop. Still nobody looking at you. That’s good news. It looks like Sam put a blanket of protection over the booths. It’s canceling your curse for right now. Boogey boogey boo. 

(The MCV begins singing) 

MCV: I told the witchdoctor I was in love with you…

(PO 1 stands with his arms out invisibly pushing the HG crew outside. PO 2 walks towards the bar and talks angrily at HG 1 and HG 2) 

MCV: And then the witchdoctor he told me what to do…

(As PO 1 finishes walking everyone out the front door. HG 1 and HG 2 gesture at their beers. They seem to want to finish. PO 2 draws his taser and yells. He fires it at HG 1 who falls to the ground tensed and screaming.) 

MCV: He said Ooo Eeee Ooo Ah Ah Ching Chang Walla Walla Bing Bang. 

(HG 2 has not put his beer down for a second. PO 1 turns around and makes a b line from the front door to HG 2. PO 1 grabs HG 2 under the arms and drags him out the front door. His beer spills onto the table. PO 2 then does the same with the body of HG 1.)

MCV: Ooo Eeee Ooo Ah Ah Ching Chang Walla Walla Bing Bang. Or did he say to put the lime in the coconut? (Singing) You put the lime in the coconut you shake it all up. You put the lime in the coconut you shake it all up. Doctor… Is there nothing I can take I said Doctor…to relieve this belly ache. He said you You put the lime in the coconut you shake it all up… Alright. Alright everyone is gone. Not you though. It worked. They think you’re a person. This is it, you can be a person again. 

(W gets up from BOOTH 2 and walks to the bar, where DF is wiping up the spilled beer. W sits down) 

DF: Hey. What can I get ya? 

W: A shot and a beer please. 

DF: Whiskey? 

W: Whatever you want. 

(DF pours the shot of whiskey) 

DF: Is coors light fine? My bartender didn’t change our kegs so we’re sort of tapped out and that’s all we’ve got in the can. 

W: Sure. 

(DF takes out the Coors light and opens it. W picks it up and takes a sip.) 

DF: You don’t want to do your shot first? 

W: No that’s for you. I hate to drink alone. 

DF: That’s really nice of you but I’m actually not allowed to drink on shift and my boss is here so you know. After everything that’s happened tonight I’m not really trying to push my luck. 

W: Sure no problem. My mom is sick and I’m taking care of her so, I’m just down here trying to get some different company. 

DF: That’s funny. You sound just like my regular bartender. Even your accent is sort of the same. It’s almost creepy. 

W: Okay. 

(W stands up and walks away from the bar. DF kind of laughs.) 

DF: No I didn’t mean anything by that. I just…

(W continues to smile and simply waves at her. He walks over to TABLE 1 and stands by it) 

MCV: Do ya think that’s true that she can’t take the drink? Would she take it if you were hot? If you were rich? Her boss? What if you were a real person? Never mind. Don’t fight it. If you fight it then it fights you. Just graciously accept. You’re her guest. That’s right. Okay. Fine how do guests act? They sit on the couch. So sit down you asshole. 

(W sits down.) 

MCV: You’re fine just calm down. You’re a guest. Have some of the candy. 

(W begins to put the decorative pieces of glass in his mouth.) 

MCV: I don’t think you’re supposed to eat that shit dude. Maybe it’s just old. Maybe I was supposed to change it and I didn’t. Don’t stop eating them you’ll look like an asshole. Say you thought they were like no chew gum. It’s a thing. Like a toothpick substitute. That sounds real. Oh fuck is my mouth bleeding? 

(S walks up to the bar.) 

S: Hey who the fuck is that guy right there. 

DF: I don’t know. Some guy. He tried to buy me a drink just now. 

S: Did he seem like he was off or something? 

DF: I don’t know. I just told him I can’t drink on shift and he went and sat at a table. 

S: I think he’s eating the glass we keep in those dishes. 

DF: Eating the glass? 

S: Yeah look his mouth is fucking bleeding. 

(W yawns and the inside of his mouth is beet red. Some blood dribbles down his chin and he wipes it on the napkin he got with his beer.) 

S: He’s probably a hold over. Tell him to get out of here. 

(DF steps out from behind the bar and walks over to W.) 

DF; Hey. You’ve been really nice but that’s glass you’re eating. 

W: Oh I thought it was like something you use instead of a toothpick. I was trying to figure out why you’ve got it in dishes here. 

DF: Yeah, well. It had weirded out some of the other patrons and my boss has asked me to ask you to leave. I apologize. 

W: Hey. No sweat. You’re just doing your job. 

(W gets up and walks towards the door.) 

END SCENE. 

(W exits to an abandoned exterior. As he does, the wall that until now has only moved back and forth is turned around and moved from STAGE LEFT to STAGE RIGHT. On this side of the wall, we now see the “MACYS” letters in large print at the center top. On the right side of the wall is a sign that says “Kitchenware” and there’s a small table sticking out of it with a wooden block that has several knife handles sticking out of it. W paces in circles STAGE LEFT. As he does we hear him talk to himself with several detached voices.) 

W: Great man! Great! Do you want to be a real person again! 

MCV: I had you all set up. I gave you clothes. I gave you speed. You had everything you needed to be normal. And you fucked it up. You fucked it up! 

SBV: Because it’s my fucking place that’s why. Because I said so. 

DFV: You are really nice. I don’t want to hurt you. Did you pick that up? Can you hear me? 

MCV: Pay attention dude. I’m the one that listens to you. I’m the guy that makes you a person. 

SBV: What are you not picking up here? I said you’re not a person. You can’t even spend money. Escalators shut off when they see you coming. You’re untouchable don’t you see that? Or do I have to cut some more fingers off until you get the point? Pointing right at you. They were pointing right at you. Remember that? Testing. Testing one two. 

W: IT’S NOT MY FAULT! IT CAN’T ALL BE MY FAULT!

Random Voice 1: Excuse me sir we need you to move along. 

Random Voice 2: Sir please! 

W: This is my fault for tuning in. Now I can’t tune them out. It’s the antenna. I’ve gotta get the antenna off. 

(W crosses the stage and ENTERS MACYS FROM STAGE LEFT. He walks over to kitchenware section and takes a knife out of the block. He turns around, pulls his pants down around his thighs, and saws off his penis. The lights go black.) 

END SCENE 

 FADE IN. EXT. DIORAMA BAR. THE FOLLOWING NIGHT. 

(PF, RR, JR, DF and A2 are standing outside. DF and JR are smoking. PF sits on his stool.) 

RR: Dude did you hear about that shit that happened at Macys? 

PF: No.

RR: I guess some guy went in there and cut his dick off.

(Everybody makes some kind of noise) 

PF: What the fuck? For real? Where’d you hear that? 

RR: Miles said he saw it on tv. 

A2: Are you sure that’s what happened? I thought I saw something about it in the paper but it just said that somebody cut themselves. It didn’t say all of that. 

PF: That’s just because they don’t want bad publicity. The city has a pr firm that tells the papers what they can say. 

JR: No they can’t do that can they? 

PF: Man like four people own this whole fucking county and two of them are the fucking sheriff. The rest are banks. People do what they’re told. 

DF: I’m looking it up right now…

(DF takes out her phone and begins typing) 

END.