Scene One
A bedroom. It is small. The walls are covered in the ripped pages of an artist's sketchbook. Articles from the newspaper, blacked out, repurposed, are stuck into the dry wall using baby pins. A broken fan swirls lamely above the heads of CHRISSY and DONNY, a young couple with their head in the clouds and toes in the dirt. Upon the bedside table sits a few choice items: A lamp without a shade, an ash tray, a squashed box of cigarettes (Winston, the most they could afford.), and a lighter on its last bit of fluid (adorned with the faded signature of a celebritythat DONNY cannot remember). There is also thirty-two dollars and seventy-six cents in cash, the only money the couple has between them. Smoke clouds the room. CHRISSY coughs. DONNY says nothing. CHRISSY s laying against the lumpy pillow, curled within her partner's arms. Suddenly, after an age of silence, she speaks, her voice far off.
CHRISSY
Can you believe?
DONNY
In anything?
CHRISSY
Hardly.
DONNY
You mean your play.
CHRISSY
Yes.
DONNY
That wasn't a question.
CHRISSY
That was an answer?
DONNY
I do believe in your play. I am very proud of you.
DONNY leans forward and sits up. He focuses on his cigarette, watching it burn. He imagines what his lungs must look like. He shivers and takes a long drag of the priso between his fingers.
CHRISSY
It hasn't hit me yet.
DONNY
It's been a month.
CHRISSY
I'm beginning to worry it never will.
DONNY
The dreamers are of a different energy than the doers.
CHRISSY
One yearns while the other learns.
DONNY
You walk to the beat of a different drum, doll.
CHRISSY
I am a writer now.
DONNY
You always were.
CHRISSY
But now I really am.
DONNY
I suppose. I don't think it changes anything.
CHRISSY gets out of bed. She leans down and takes hold of DONNY'S one and only dress shirt, still laying crumpled up on their cold bedroom floor from a month ago. She pulls it on and walks over to a cardboard box filled with small books. Paperback, thin paper, large font. Scripts.
CHRISSY
It's like a baby.
DONNY
It has your wit. And your eyes.
CHRISSY
I want to have another.
DONNY
Can you afford it?
CHRISSY
Can I produce it?
DONNY
How did it feel?
CHRISSY
To see it upon the stage, or to hold it here in my hands?
DONNY is silent.
CHRISSY
Practical. It was practical. I learned that dreaming is magical and doing is practical.
DONNY
Bleak.
CHRISSY
Not so. What was once far-fetched... now feasible. Now in my hands, physical.
DONNY
Is art practical now?
CHRISSY
I am a writer now.
DONNY
You always were.
CHRISSY
Another.
DONNY
Another?
CHRISSY
Another, I must.
CHRISSY begins tugging on a pair of ratty jeans. She slips her freezing feet into a miserable pair of white sneakers, her patchy arms into a thin coat. DONNY erupts into a fit of coughs. Black gunk flys from his brown throat. It dots the stained white comforter like black stars in a white space. He is wholly unbothered until CHRISSY wraps her shaking fingers around the crumpled dollar bills on their nightstand.
DONNY
What do you think you're doing?
CHRISSY
I need it. For a cab. To use the library computer. To print my work.
DONNY
We need that to eat.
CHRISSY
I cannot sate myself on food alone.
DONNY
Put the money down.
CHRISSY
Another.
DONNY
Dwell on this one, Chrissy, I beg you.
CHRISSY
I cannot dwell. I can only look toward the future and grin.
DONNY
What will we do?
CHRISSY
Creation will keep me alive.
DONNY
What if you haven't got anything?
CHRISSY comes to a halt.
CHRISSY
I will have something.
DONNY laughs. He wheezes. His teeth are yellow. His gums are bright red. CHRISSY presses a kiss to his beautiful mouth.
CHRISSY
I have to.
DONNY
We'll starve.
CHRISSY
We will, then.
DONNY
Published playwrights do not starve.
CHRISSY
Then we will be fine.
DONNY
Not what I meant.
CHRISSY
Have you not the strength to stop me from killing us?
DONNY
My heart hurts.
CHRISSY
That is not metaphorical.
DONNY
We will starve.
CHRISSY
In the name of art.
DONNY
I used to have money.
CHRISSY
In the name of creation.
DONNY
My stomach was full.
CHRISSY
In the name of humanity.
DONNY
My girlfriend was blonde and liked opera.
CHRISSY
Not for them, but for ourselves.
DONNY
My heart didn't hurt.
CHRISSY
Not for ourselves, but for me.
DONNY
I didn't cough as much.
CHRISSY
I'll be home.
DONNY shuts his eyes. He lays back on the bed and sleeps. CHRISSY stands before him. The lights flicker. The room goes dark. CHRISSY coughs. DONNY says nothing.
