Playella | Street America by Kenechukwu Obi

The stage, an empty American street, is well lit, with no activity on it, silence prevailing.  Then Bob, an American in his mid-thirties, comes passing by, with drooped shoulders. He looks downcast, his clothing not exquisite, not rags though, but unkempt, and surely has seen better days. Bob walks out of view without stopping to face the audience or utter a word. Casey, an American in his mid-twenties, also comes passing by, with his shoulders high. He is in high spirits, has bounce in his steps, and scintillating swagger. His ears adorned with diamond earrings, his clothing, quite splendid, a renowned designer’s brainchild. Casey gets to the centre of the stage and stops, takes a look at the audience, and around.

CASEY: (Exclaims) Wow… (Still looking around) Empty street… Where is everybody…? What’s looming …? Where are Americans…? The Whitehouse had better hear this. What the hell’s going on…? (Bob starts to pass by again, his head bent, his hands at his back like he is handcuffed, facing the floor)  Can someone in America tell me what the hell’s going on…?

BOB: (As he passes, almost murmuring) What the hell is going on is hell. (Keeps walking)

CASEY: (Hears Bob, quickly turns to him) What?  (Bob walks out of view without uttering one more word.)  (A bit frustrated, yells) I don’t get it! America is so dump that no one talks back? (Yells further) Hello… Hello… Hello America… (Bob starts to pass by again, his head bent, his hands at his back like he is handcuffed, his face facing the floor)

BOB: (As he passes, almost murmuring) Hello my foot. Who’s going to hear him when we can’t pay our phone bills?

CASEY: (Turns to Bob) Did you talk to me? (Gets no response)

BOB: He will never understand.

CASEY: Are you talking to me? Wait! (Runs after Bob) Wait… Don’t keep walking away… (Grabs Bob’s shirt) Who are you? Where do you come from? Why are you going and coming?

BOB: (Stops, turns to Casey) You’re holding my prized possession. Cost three dollars. So expensive. I can call the cops.

CASEY: (Adamant, still holds on to Bob’s shirt)  Who are you?

BOB: Stop tempting me to call the cops.

CASEY: (Still adamant) Who are you?

BOB: Leave my shirt alone.

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One comment

  1. Pingback: Playella Project | Week Eight | Politics | Descent

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