My Rug
If my rug were a house it would have good bones, right?
JAKE
Theatrics
I rip my mask off. Distressed, you might call my expression, if you weren’t so fucking focused on checking your goddamn phone, I am having a moment here. A figure joins me on stage. It’s just me with a megaphone, I didn’t really have time to hire someone new.
He’s Afraid of all the Happiness
He shrieks that I’m hiding fun from him because I know where he is and I won’t pretend otherwise, and groans to himself he needs to do a better job hiding—he’s so bad at it.
Melrose
I signed a one-year lease fifteen years ago, / but 3,497 auditions later, I’m still here.
Demi Moore Sighting in Brentwood
for Nicole Brown Simpson, murdered June 12, 1994
Dorothy Parker at the Algonquin
Suitors stare across the bar, singing sonnets with their eyes, as if praying for one last deadly line.
Back to Motherland, That’s Some Otherland
Let’s go back to once upon a time. Before the clarity, before the connection, before the sukoon. Let me start with the disparity of hope and despair, the heartbreak and the trauma.