P. 1
Much Less More

Much Less More

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Published by Joe Frost
trio of monologues: child, man, woman.
trio of monologues: child, man, woman.

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Published by: Joe Frost on Aug 06, 2014
Copyright:Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved


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Written by
Joseph Frost
written for the 2014 31 Plays in 31 Days Project
Play #5
© Attic Scripts 2014
Joseph Frost
4550 Normandy Dr
Jackson, MS 39206
Clayton is alone, seated in a chair. He has a suitcase on
his lap.
I’m not afraid. I’m not running away. I’m... I’m... chasing my future. Believing that there
is still a tomorrow for me, that looks nothing like today. A tomorrow where the me of
today can slowly, gradually transform into the me of the future.
I am not afraid.
Harry sits at a low table (coffee table?). He is putting
together a puzzle. He barely has the edges done. As he
speaks, he is concentrating on placing the puzzle piece.
My favorite kind of transportation is a motorcycle. It’s like a bicycle, but faster. And
louder. And so cool. Sometimes people are afraid of them, because they’re so loud and
fast, but not me. That’s exactly why I like them. Sometimes they go screaming down the
street by my house, and it’s really loud and all, but that’s why because they’re going so
fast. I’ve never seen them go down my street, but I hear them all the time. I had a bicycle
but it got stolen from in front of my house because I didn’t lock it up like I was supposed
to and someone come along and like it and think it was pretty cool and took it home with
them. I thought it was pretty cool too. But not as cool as a motorcycle.
Nathalie is painting her toe nails.
There is no way I’m getting the promotion at work. Alex hasn’t even looked over the last
quarter numbers yet, and that’s where all my best numbers show up. Pam did well the
quarter before that, and that’s all Alex is aware of. Not that she’s dropped the ball for the
past month, while I’ve picked up her slack.
Ugh. Listen to me. You know, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. Spend all evening
fretting about work, and not giving myself the time to just be at home, and myself, and not
be “on” all night. Work is work, and home is home. I have to drop it.
I’ve never been good at that.
I don’t know anyone who is.
Clayton stands up.
Final boarding. I stand and check my pockets. My boarding pass. My suitcase. I’m...
I’m ready. There’s a mass of people waiting to board. And I wonder... I wonder how
many of them are running away. Afraid. I imagine for a moment that we all are. And
headed to the same destination. Not just a hub, bound for separate final destinations, but
that we have gathered here, purposefully, to become new people. Baptized by air travel.
As the crowd grows smaller and smaller, each one passing their papers over the scanner,
the scanner beeping its approval, I realize that we... we are none of us... avoiding the fear
from which we run. We’ve each packed it. Our carry on. Our one personal lap item, to be
stored in the overhead bin or in the seat in front of us. Just within reach. As we pretend to
have packed it away.
Harry climbs up to his knees to see the puzzle pieces
I have a video game where a bouncing blue rubber rabbit is chasing a power cube down a
sewer pipe. And if you don’t have the motorcycle power, then there’s no way you can
catch the cube. It’s too fast. And sometimes it goes -whoom, whoom- around in a circle in
the sewer pipe, like that, and if you’re only the rubber rabbit you bounce back down to the
ground and you drown in the sewer water. I used to do that all the time, but there’s no way
to get the power cube without doing that because it is most of the time up on the top of the
sewer pipe thing. And to get the motorcycle, you have to... um...
(concentrating on a puzzle piece)
You have to... uh...
(not the right piece)
There’s a special level when you go back to the right around the corner from the gator gate.
you have to jump across the bridge thing there, but on the other side, that’s where you can
get the motorcycle. Cause you’ll need it if you want to catch the power cube.
Nathalie stands up, and walks on her heels across the
I know the real problem is that I don’t eat out at lunch. Gina and Tim always go out to
lunch and make a big deal about it. Sometimes they invite me, usually they don’t. It’s not
like they don’t see me walk in carrying my containers of leftovers, and leave them in the
fridge. I don’t blame them for not asking me. But I know that Pam is gone for lunch every
day. I don’t think she goes with Gina and Tim. I think she doesn’t. I don’t think Tim
likes her much anyway. He asked her out once, and I don’t think it went well. I don’t
know why. Tim’s a perfectly nice guy. And she seems sweet enough. A little dim.
But when everyone’s gone to lunch and I’m still there, I end up catching all the lunchtime
calls that come in.
Really, we shouldn’t eat lunch when everyone else does, because that’s when they call us.
Lunch is the worst hour of the day. But that’s how I’ve been picking up all that extra
clientele, because I’m the one at the office during lunch.
I just miss out on all the things that happen at lunch.
Clayton sets down the suitcase.
The plane departed without me. The people at the counter called my name three times over
the loudspeaker, and I just stood there the whole time. And they closed the doors. The
plane left. And the gate changed over to a flight to a different place altogether. Like the
previous flight had never existed.
Clayton kicks the suitcase.
Harry starts to push puzzle pieces off of the table.
Because motorcycles are better than planes. They don’t go high up in the sky, and they
don’t take so many people all at once. Just one at a time. Sometimes two. Or three if
there’s a sidecar. but not a whole bunch of people all at once. And not so far away. Not
so far away so fast.
Motorcycles are my favorite.
Nathalie sits on the floor.
Honestly. I don’t want the promotion. I don’t want to do the job I have, much less more
of it. Much less more.
I like eating leftovers for lunch.
And I hate this color of polish.
They linger for a moment.
Lights down.

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