Tread the Boards Lightly

In order to give you an accurate understanding of the incident(s) from last week, I shall devise a short play called "They Gave Him Back His Coupon". I will create characters based on the people that were involved and, in some places, combine characters in order to cast as few guild actors as possible. The story shall be kept simple and the dialogue engaging.

"They Gave Him Back His Coupon"

Lights up on the interior of a small restaurant. A man in his early 50's, ROBERT, enters from the street and sits down at a table. After a few moments, a SERVER enters from the kitchen and approaches the man. The server's clothes do not look freshly washed and the person is obviously a pervert.

SERVER: How's it going?

ROBERT: I'm fine. Thanks.

SERVER: That's good. Can I get you something to drink?

ROBERT: Uh. Could I see a menu?

SERVER: Oh, sure.

The server creeps to a counter and removes a menu from a stack of them, like an eel sucking dirt from the bottom of the ocean.

SERVER (CONT.): Here ya go.

ROBERT: Thank you.

Robert takes the menu and peruses it.

SERVER: Nice day, huh?

ROBERT: Yeah, pretty nice. Do you have Pepsi products or Coca-cola?

SERVER: Coke.

ROBERT: That's fine. Oh, and I have this coupon.

Robert hands the server a coupon. The dunce glances at it for less than one second. Far too little time to actually read it or understand the agreement by which the coupon exists and for which it was posted upon a very reputable website - prominently, one might add - for use by all paying customers.

SERVER: Just a second.

The server exits back to the kitchen area, expelling gas the whole way. Robert continues looking at the menu. After a moment, the lying fucker returns.

SERVER (CONT.): Sorry, we don't accept this coupon.

ROBERT: But it's a perfectly-

SERVER: Sorry.

After a moment, Robert solemnly nods, takes back the undeservedly refused coupon, and exits back to the street. With great force, a large black hole opens in the ceiling of the restaurant and sucks in the server, swallowing the idiot whole.

Blackout.

As intense and inviting as it is, this play cannot do justice the outrage that the author felt at the time of the offense. This exercise was meant to demonstrate the need for societal change, but also to provide ventilation of rage that can only be expressed through the medium of live theater. Rage that was certainly not relieved by following the menace home and barraging the fool with idle threats and sometimes very, very real threats that resulted in unfortunate violence. Also, the time spent writing this has helped pass the time as I await trial.

The Kurlow-Lynnis Building

Travelers with a thirst for adventurous architecture and personal introspection would do well to visit the Kurlow-Lynnis Building in the Parkland West section of the city. The most fascinating aspects of this marvel of postmodern design are its famous Grand Leap atrium, the sweeping avant-garde mural ("Call to a Generation", by Greta Young), and its structural reliability on the sexual memories of all that pass through its entrance.

Design and construction for the K-L was financed by the Lynnis Group, at the behest of its founder's great-granddaughter, Beatrice Thromwell-Lynnis, whose great fortune was only matched by her endearingly endless sexual appetite. Lovably eccentric and often under the influence of cranberry eau de vie, her only request was that the building share her family name along with that of Higston Kurlow, the man to whom she had entrusted her virginity. In her final years, she reconnected with Kurlow and met her unfortunate end at the hands of his mistress, the actress Glyda Booti.

For much of its 75-year history, the K-L has enjoyed aesthetic praise and heavy tourism. It has been featured several times in publications ranging from Zeniths in Architecture and Telekinetic Monthly. However in times of mass sexual repression, such as the Great Chaste Divining, the Kurlow-Lynnis has been known to lay in ruins.

Cycles

"I'll be gone again in July," Greg said over the noise of the dishwasher.

He was looking out the kitchen sink window and Mary couldn't see his eyes. She looked to the calendar to see the breath of days between then and July, still months away.

"I don't know why you couldn't have just waited till June to tell me," she said. "July seems so far away. You'll probably change your mind by then."

"I won't," he said, still turned away from her. The dishwasher whirred into rinse mode. He finished the last of his coffee and set his daytime mug into the sink. He walked past her into the living room, but she could only stare at the mug in the sink.

Well, then I'll make it my mission not to care by then, she thought.