The real failure of improv is not trying it.


Bob bought me some orange chicken on 30th street. The Rangers homecoming. Ranger Blue and Red everywhere. The wind dancing with discarded newspapers. I’ve been waiting for this yellow-taxied moment-standing in the middle of the greatest city in the world – looking up – Lazy tripping reflections off the million or so windows. Translucent double-sided clear, removable vinyl, mounted to 1/4″ gator board.
“Where’s my freakin fortune cookie?”
My father grew roses around the house – like the necklace around your neck. And they bloomed twice a year. Sometimes at peak, if you walked out into the yard, the fragrance would almost knock you down.
My father grew a business in a ritzy rich town – like an ice cream store in hell. And it bloomed with burlap and silk. Sometimes during a sale, if you walked out into the racks of fabric, the fragrance would almost knock you down.
The Diary Of A Sex Addict (ACT 8 SCENE 3)
“Ok ok ok, just leave me alone…you fucking asshole. I’m not some damn machine!”
“I love you.”
(curtain)

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