A new play in ten scenes. Our cast of characters: Annie Ellis, Garrett Molloy, Gibson Maguire; together in a Capra-corn for the millennial age.
The sound of GARRETT MOLLOY breathing…
GARRETT MOLLOY: Everyone thinks you’re losing it, Garrett.
Everyone thinks you’re losing…
This morning, I left the gas station with a fiver and a ten, shoving them into a pocket.
I pulled the five out to buy a sandwich and Gatorade.
Couldn’t find the ten.
Thought at least someone would find it who might take better care of a Hamilton.
And here it is: crumpled in the same back pocket I searched before.
The money that followed me ten miles home.
I won’t have to wrap up coins in tissue paper for much longer.
Spent the morning looking for something useful enough for Richie to sell on three-oh-one.
I’m sick of that warehouse built to house nothing forever.
Too long, staring at orphaned objects waiting for destruction.
The bulldozer keeps moving back and forth, back and forth, until everything is just compost.
There is no other duty left for me.
I just watch the yellow beast do its job.
Every now and then I see something elect…and I snatch it.
There is no malice there, but the loss weighs me down.
…there isn’t any other choice.
I’m out of sight and out of mind.
I’m out of my right mind.
I’m out of…everything.
Everything’s gonna be alright, Garrett.
I saw some stuff that wasn’t garbage.
Some things I could grab and others way too big of a bite.
Plenty of toys today.
Gosh, there were skateboards…play-pens…car seats…bikes.
I did get to save those; all of those.
Richie will sell ‘em pretty quick, bless him.
New owners for everything.
I watched a Sesame Street big wheel get crushed.
I was too slow.
The plastic tires popped like balloons.
The sound of GARRETT breathing.
Air was crisp today.
It was bright and hot and loud enough for me to hide till the afternoon.
Unless I win the lottery, when I die, my kids will get nothing but an apology letter.
Good thing I have no children.
It’s four in the morning and I’ve got one thousand, twelve-hundred and fifty-nine names numbered in this notebook.
I won’t have to bum cash at the gas station tomorrow.
My hand hurts.
Sleep will not help that.
But, I need to be shipshape for Annie.
She treats this like it’s a job worth doing.
Read what happens in Scene Four “Resignation”.
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