The Guy, again.
Standing center stage, looking at us.
Can I just, for one more day, not have something to say?
The Guy moves downstage.
I write this for myself. Not so that you can have some kind of inside track as to what’s going on in my head. Because this is never the whole. This is only a fragment…
The Guy closes his eyes.
And as I read this I can tell you – the sound it makes on here isn’t what this day feels like. Not as a whole. This feeling is one small part. One small corner that’s unlit. But the rest of it...
The Guy opens his mouth.
Where is the space where one can share only what they want to share and not be demanded any more? Is there a space for that? Why isn’t there a space for that?
No sound is made.
The lights go down.
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