OUTLAW

THE COLLECTED WORKS OF

MIGUEL PIERO

ALSO

BY

MIGUEL PIERO

La Bodega Sold Dreams Outrageous One-Act Plays The Sun Always Shines for the Cool

OUTLAW
THE COLLECTED WORKS OF

MIGUEL PIERO

Introduction by Nicols Kanellos and Jorge Iglesias

Arte Pblico Press Houston, Texas

Outlaw: The Collected Works of Miguel Piero is made possible through grants from the City of Houston through the Houston Arts Alliance. Recovering the past, creating the future Arte Pblico Press University of Houston 452 Cullen Performance Hall Houston, Texas 77204-2004 Photograph of Miguel Piero by Arlene Gottfried Cover design by Pilar Espino Piero, Miguel Outlaw: The Collected Works of Miguel Piero / by Miguel Piero; introduction to the poetry of Miguel Piero by Nicols Kanellos; introduction to the drama of Miguel Piero by Jorge Iglesias. p. cm. ISBN 978-1-55885-606-6 (alk. paper) 1. Inner citiesNew York (State)New YorkPoetry. 2. Inner citiesNew York (State)New YorkDrama. 3. Puerto RicansNew York (State)New YorkPoetry. 4. Puerto RicansNew York (State)New YorkDrama. I. Title. PS3566.I5216O87 2010 811'.54dc22 2010025858 CIP The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.
SHORT EYES by Miguel Piero. Copyright 1974, 1975 by Miguel Piero. Reprinted by permission of Hill and Wang, a division of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC. 2010 by Arte Pblico Press Printed in the United States of America

10 11 12 13 14 15 16

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents
Introduction to the Poetry of Miguel Piero by Nicols Kanellos | vii Introduction to the Drama of Miguel Piero by Jorge Iglesias | xv POETRY

L A B ODEGA SOLD D REAMS

3 4 6 9 11 13 15 17 19 22 23 26 28 30 31 32 33 35

La Bodega Sold Dreams A Lower East Side Poem The Book of Genesis According to San Miguelito This Is Not the Place Where I Was Born Black Woman with the Blond Wig On Jitterbugging Jesus Kill, Kill, Kill Running Scared Seekin the Cause La Caonera del Mundo Spring GardenPhiladelphia Cocaine NoseAcid Face Visitin a Friend at the Cold Shop On the Lock-In On the Day They Buried my Mother . . . La gente que no se quiera pa na con la lengua The Menudo of a Cuchifrito Love Affair New York City Hard Times Blues

PREVIOUSLY UNPUBLISHED POEMS FROM THE CYCLE OF L A B ODEGA SOLD D REAMS

43 45 46 48 49 51 52 53 54

Obreras Declaration 1968 Bastard Streets Transtime Meditation A Latin Trip Windy Music Screams Profanity Vente Conmigo Guy LombardoBack in Town A Carnival Perpetual Inconsistent Commentary Poem

OTHER PREVIOUSLY UNPUBLISHED POEMS

65 66 68 69 70 71 72 74

58 60 61

Perhaps Tomorrow A Step Toward Insanity Mango Dreams

The Lower East Side Is Taking . . . And then Come Freedom to Dream Antarctica The Answer To-get-her Where Do the Colors . . . The High Dont Equal the Low Rerun of The Ballad of the Freaks

81 101 111 133 159 179 193 244 249 293 339

PLAYS Paper Toilet Cold Beer The Guntower Irving Sideshow Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks Short Eyes Glossary of slang The Sun Always Shines for the Cool Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon Eulogy for a Small Time Thief Afterword by Joseph Papp | 381

Introduction to the Poetry of Miguel Piero

BY NICOLS KANELLOS University of Houston

ts three-thirty in the morning and the phone rings. Its Mikey calling from LA. He wants to dictate a poem to me. For the record? The archive? A future publication? Okay, Mikey, go ahead, I grumble sleepily into the phone, and dutifully jot down the poem as his rasping voice dramatizes each line. Looking back, these earlymorning requests were not unreasonable, given the circumstances under which Miguel Piero lived and developed his art. Quite often without a place to crash, no office or file cabinet other than his frantically scribbled notebooks, which he often lost when he did crash in a shooting gallery or alone on the floor of a bookstore back room or in his blurred travels from his haunts on the Lower East Side to Hollywood or a filming locationthere is no telling how much of Pieros poems and plays-in-progress were lost to posterity. There is also no retrieving the portions of dialog he drafted for such T.V. crime dramas as Baretta, Kojak and Miami Vice, whose remuneration helped to keep him high and doubtlessly cut into his poetic and dramatic creativity, eroding his legacy not only by distracting him from his ultimate and favored literary mission but also from polishing, preserving and publishing his works. He confessed as much in Antarctica: Each penny accumulated/to feed my veins . . . /distort the rhythm in my living. . . . (68). Despite the lucrative Hollywood paydays and his national fame as a playwright on the leading edge, Piero was perennially destitute, often ill and frequently involved in scrapes with the policethat is, after having served years of hard time.
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Nicols Kanellos An expert and celebrant of the narcotics and sex trades in New York City, the self-educated ex-con/writer Piero (a thief, a junky Ive been/committed every known sin in A Lower East Side Poem4)] stood his marginalized ground to unmask the hypocrisy of mainstream society, to attack the bases of latter-day capitalism and American imperialism, especially for having produced the transplant and ghetto entrapment of Puerto Ricans. Unlike the more subtle critiques in his plays, Pieros poems were composed and performed for his people, his neighborhood, often to educate and connect the dots from capitalism to racism and labor exploitation: capitalism who begat racism who begat exploitation who begat machismo who begat imperialism who begat colonialism who begat wall street who begat foreign wars (The Book of Genesis According to St. Miguelito 6) For the irreverent Piero, God created all that is ugly in the world, God is the Greatest Capitalist of them all and the arch Hypocrite. In the central metaphor of his book, the United States is the grand bodega where everything is for sale, and God is the Bodeguero who oversees and empowers all the salesmencorporate leaders and politicians who ultimately sell and manipulate the merchandise for sale in Pieros community: drugs and flesh. Unable to fit in and labeled a criminal in this societal order, Piero in his life and art lashed back as an outlaw: a street-fighting man a problem of this land I am the Philosopher of the Criminal Mind a dweller of prison time a cancer of Rockefellers ghettocide (A Lower East Side Poem 5) It is from this stance that he embarks on attacking and protesting injustice, racial and economic oppression and hypocrisy; as an outlaw poet situated outside of societal norms he is able to reveal all of the
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Introduction to the Poetry of Miguel Piero ugliness created by the capitalist order and embrace all of the victims that society has rejected and derided. Firmly cognizant of his and his communitys existence in the space where two cultures and social classes meet, Piero used that interstitial space to create new language, new life, new art. Not an unsophisticated folk artist but a technologically connected and savvy observer of daily life and willing consumer of popular culture, he never considered the canon, which he intuited was created and sustained to solidify the identity and power of the oppressors. Instead, he found common ground with the cultural expressions of all of the marginalized peoples in his world: spoken blues, early rock and roll, salsa and, most of all, declamacin, that art of performing ones poetry in the community, in his case inflected with the accents of African American prison poetry, the beat generation and Nuyorican bilingual dialect. Like fellow Nuyorican poets Victor Hernndez Cruz and Tato Laviera, he strove to capture the rhythm, tone and excitement of salsa in many of his verses: all the worlds were twirlin wild as if the universe had gone mad . . . Eddie Palmieri went insane in the milky way driving the zodiac into a frenzy an orgy of latin sounds (A Latin Trip 49) But Piero most loved the talking blues. Only the blues seemed to capture his melancholy and regret for leading the life he did; in his New York City Hard Time Blues and other compositions, he sang of the hard times of being hooked, of never being able to experience true love, of loneliness and alienation. . . . The rhythm and repetition of his blues refrains also informed his eulogy for a person who foolishly pursued the American Dream in Seeking the Cause. You may still be able to find a commercially produced 33 rpm recording of Mikeys own performed rendition of his bluesy masterpiece, New York City Hard Time Blues, and perhaps some other arcane recordings of other readings, but his spoken compositions transcribed in the poems published in this volume can never reproduce the oral performance of this trained actor-showman. Even the audio-recordings do not faithfully reproduce the ambience and Mikeys emotive, gesticulated and aura-creating performances. Not even Benjamin Bratt was capable of capturing Mikeys intellectual-artistic numen and charisma
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Nicols Kanellos in the acclaimed feature film Piero. Here was a wiry, short (fivefoot-four on tip toes?), scruffy, blood-shot-eyed, hoarse-throat performer who threatened as much power and danger as when he was a street-gang leader, creating and performing some of the most challenging poetry possible. How incongruous was it that he had left his prison cell to garner one of the United States top awards for playwriting, the 1973-1974 New York Drama Critics Award for Best American Play and to win one of the most elite fellowships for artists, the Guggenheim? The Best American Play award to a Puerto Rican writing from within a Sing Sing cell? From where he stood, the irony of these accolades did not pass him by. Pieros poems, as well as his plays, questioned the very nature of what it is to be an American, and whether the underclass and marginalized are truly part of that national complex of malls, corporations, high culture, militaristic intervention and conquest that he cursed in La Caonera del Mundo. Writing from the very battlefield where cultures and social classes clash, it is understandable that in one instance he would write, le escupo al viento que te acarici/te hablo a ti, bandera americana, and in another, I am . . . 100% AMERICAN. In the former, he indicted American imperialism, and in the latter he provided a paean to the American Dream: then come the bravest . . . and then still inside . . . come . . . they one by one die . . . that others may dream of reaching the top of the ladder and theyre close to heaven its then the best thing for the pursuit of happiness for women & men and eternal roots . . . a symbol of life entwined in Liberty (And Then Come Freedom to Dream 66) Seriously, ironically . . . was Piero as an impoverished and oppressed urban denizen embarked on a mission of vengeance, to strike back with his pen at American society, where his shiv and other weapons and criminal ventures had only landed him in prison? Was the failed criminal now the outlaw on the cultural map, speaking
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Introduction to the Poetry of Miguel Piero the unspeakable in an authentic but frequently censored American argot, depicting the formerly ignored sentiments of the people at street level who suffer for the decisions made by politicians and corporate leaders, feeding the prurient imaginations of the middle and upper classes who fear and rarely confront the people living in urban danger zones. Was the pimp Piero hawking scenes and insights to middleclass johns, proverbially forced to witness the low life while sitting trapped in a subway toilet, as in his short play, Paper Toilet? Are we Pieros ultimate johns, as readers and audience? Was he a pornographer, guiding us through his peep show, hoping perhaps not to entice and shock us, revealing as deeply human the barrios, ghettoes and prisons and challenging all of our preconceptions? All of the above is truer for the plays, which as a genre require the intervention of middle-class cultural institutions for their production and are more likely to be seen by members of the same bourgeois society Piero sought to shock and educate. The poetry, on the other hand, was pitched more to his own neighborhood in the Lower East Side, to be read on street corners or at the Nuyorican Poets Caf. Despite all of his melancholy, Piero believed in the power of poetry to awake and educate his own people: words strong & powerful crashing thru walls of steel & concrete erected in minds weak (La Bodega Sold Dreams 3) His poetry is more bilingual than his plays, often more intimate, frequently self-directed and elucidating. In his poems, Piero motivated his community to consider the origins and circumstance of its oppression, but he also explored his own psyche, love, hope and, ultimately, disillusionment. After his much beloved and quoted Lower East Side Poem, in which he pledged his undying allegiance to that neighborhood, what can be more heartbreaking than his later assessment in The Lower East Side Is Taking. . .: The Lower East Side taking my life away . . . Not one damn block belongs to me, not one damn brick! (65)
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Nicols Kanellos This tone of regret pervades much of Pieros more intimate verse and engulfs all expressions of love; for true, romantic love, as perceived by Piero in popular culture and longed for by him, was impossible, given Mikeys lifestyle. Yet the yearning for it never ceased: Where do the purple curtains colored pain of love lost the blue conversation of love lost fall and merge into . . . (Where Do the Colors . . . 71) He can only hope for a better world tomorrow in which love is possible: PERHAPS TOMORROW OUR HEARTS Will cease to be An ocean of pain Or a river of suffering And a mountain of desires For a tomorrow of fantasy (PERHAPS TOMORROW 58) Instead, Piero offered us in both serious and humorous works the distortion of love in the underworld sex trade. It is the only reflection possible in Pieros topsy-turvy world at the margin of established society, where pimps and hoes, johns and cons, cross-dressers and pedophiles parade and commit outrageously lewd sexual acts as the most natural behavior. In his burlesque epic Rerun of The Ballad of the Freaks, Piero fantasized a parade of creatures from film, comic books and television competing to outdo each other in a raucous orgy of sexual deviance, causing rivers of ejaculate to inundate the streets of the city. It is Pieros inversion of such media extravaganzas as the Oscars, the Miss America Pageant and high society galas in what Mikhail J. Bakhtin would identify as a carnivalesque exercise in inverting the world order. More pronounced in such plays as The Sun Always Shines for the Cool than in most of his poetry, this topsyturvy world is basic to Pieros outlaw ideology and his esthetics: lo malo se pone bueno y lo bueno se pone malo (La gente que no se quiere pa na con la lengua 32). It accounts for his prolific use of streetwise profanity, his celebration of petty criminals and primitive rebels, his individual and lonely stance against the overwhelmingly oppressive authority that so frequently incarcerated him, at times trying to reform him, make him normal:
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Introduction to the Poetry of Miguel Piero Me, seventeen, and all the therapeutic verbs, nouns, adjectives that sent psychologists, sociologists and every-ologist and their grandmother scrambling thru Freudian terminology dictionaries where once it was chic to turn the pitiable poor personality disordered junkie . . . (The High Dont Equal the Low 72) But Piero was not and always refused to be what he considered normal in a corrupt and hypocritical society. In the ultimate analysis, the freakish environment was the most comfortable home for Piero, who identified with his marginalization, celebrated it and created for himself the persona of the outlaw. He found more honesty and integrity among prison inmates, sex workers and street people than he ever did in the representatives of normal society and its institutions. Ironically, it is Piero the freak, the maladjusted outsider to be gawked at pruriently as in a carnival or circus sideshow (also the concept for his play by this title), who competes with the more menacing Piero the outlaw. Reader, which of the two speaks to you most?

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Introduction to the Drama of Miguel Piero

BY JORGE IGLESIAS University of Houston

f the three distinctive branches of Hispanic theatre of the United Statesie., native, immigrant and exilethe native1 branch stands out by virtue of the rapidity in which it has developed in a relatively short period of time. From the social commitment of Luis Valdezs early works to the feminist plays of Dolores Prida, Hispanic theatre of the native tradition exhibits a wide variety of styles, themes, settings, characters and situations. The tradition that began with Valdezs innovative actoswhich resulted from the desire to find a suitable medium to express the feelings and concerns of the Hispanic community in the United Stateshas made a special place for itself in the universal history of drama, as it has come to establish dialogue not only within itself, but also with the work of playwrights that belong to the universal canon, such as Tennessee Williams, in the case of Cherre Moraga, and August Strindberg, whose The Stronger serves as a metatext for Pridas Coser y cantar. When one considers the various contributions to this rich tradition, the work of Puerto Rican-born Miguel Piero (1946-1988) represents an exceptional case in many ways. Despite the fact that he spent almost a third of his life in prison, Piero was the recipient of several awards and grants, including the 1973-1974 New York Drama Critics Circle Award for his play Short Eyes and the Guggenheim Fellowship for playwriting. Also an actor, Piero appeared in various Hollywood films, including
1

For an overview and description of these three trajectories of U. S. Hispanic culture, see Kanellos, A Schematic Approach to Understanding Latino Transnational Literary Texts. xv

Jorge Iglesias Short Eyes, in television movies and in several episodes of Miami Vice, for which he also wrote scripts. An outstanding figure of the Nuyorican movement, Piero was one of the founders of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe, in which the Puerto Rican community of New York found a space to express itself freely. More recently, the playwrights life and work have become the subject of the film Piero (2001), attesting to the popularity of Piero both as an author and, perhaps more prominently, as the embodiment of freedom and dissent. Given the interest that Piero has inspired in popular culture, it is surprising that there are still no works of scholarship dedicated solely to the study of this authors achievement in the theatrical field. The purpose of this essay is to explore the elements that compose Miguel Pieros work and to establish his contribution to the native Hispanic theatre of the United States. As it will be seen, Pieros output is framed by three different contexts: the Nuyorican movement, prison literature and outlaw culture. A study of Pieros work in these contextsall of which are united in the strong sense of marginality that constitutes the main concern of Pieros writingswill help to establish and to value his tremendous achievement. THE NUYORICAN MOVEMENT In order to appreciate Pieros work fully, his career must be regarded in the light of the Hispanic tradition in the United States, since the underlying concept that binds Pieros writings is his position as a member of a minority within a dominant group. The situation of uncertainty, or the identity crisis, that this position entails gave rise to many Hispanic cultural movements within the United States, such as Chicanismo and the one that concerns us, the Nuyorican movement, which had its base in Loisaida, or the Lower East Side (Voz xvii). In The Nuyorican Experience, Eugene V. Mohr articulates the Nuyorican feeling in the following words: Where do [the Nuyoricans] belong? They have lost the land of their fathers and not yet found a way into the American mainstream. They are at home in a place where their needs for social and human recognition go unsatisfied. And so they have opted to create [. . .] their own society (97). The problem of cultural ambiguity is resolved through syncretism, which can be appreciated easily in the language of native Hispanic writers in the United States. Like Luis Valdez, Carlos Morton, Josefina Lpez and many others, Piero wrote bilingual plays which reproxvi

Introduction to the Drama of Miguel Piero duce the language of a culture that is conscious of its roots in the oral tradition. The Puerto Rican characters in Short Eyes communicate mostly in English because they interact with English-speaking characters, but they also speak Spanish among themselves in moments of greater intimacy, such as when Paco tries to seduce Cupcakes: Yo quiero ser tuyo y quiero que t sea mo, Paco says, Y qu t quiere que yo haga por t? (Short 220). As evident in this quote, Piero reproduces Puerto Rican popular speech very accurately, both in the grammatical and the phonetic sense. The best example of bilingualism in Pieros work, however, is the one-act play Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks, in which the characters speak either Spanish or English according to their interlocutor, and even engage in codeswitching or Spanglish: Bueno, la cancin que me cantaste wasnt exactly greatly accepted, says Mara (Outrageous 182). When asked in an interview why he used Spanglish in his plays, Piero answered simply: Thats what we talk. Thats what we are (Alarcn McKesson 57). A more succinct answer could not be given. Piero saw bilingualism as an intrinsic characteristic of the Nuyorican, and so his plays reflect this aspect of his culture. Regarding characters, native Hispanic theatre in general concerns itself neither with epic heroes nor with melancholy characters driven by the nostalgia of a lost home, so common in Hispanic immigrant and exile plays. The native Hispanic author says as much about the United States as any other type of American author. In the particular case of Piero, his plays offer the audience a view of the lower depths of the social scale, from the prison inmates to the dwellers of New York tenements. As Nicols Kanellos and Jorge Huerta point out in Nuevos Pasos, Pieros theatre is a milestone for its introduction to the stage of characters who previously appeared only as stereotypes, but now assume real lives of their own: the immigrant, the convict, the numbers runner, the pimp, the prostitute, the john (173). Pieros characters are, above all, human, like the man who runs out of toilet paper and whose pants are stolen in Paper Toilet, and the homosexual who confronts his conservative parents in Irving. Many Puerto Ricans appear in Pieros works, most notably in Sideshow, a one-act play that depicts the extreme measures minorities are driven to in their struggle for survival in the urban jungle. Malo the Merchant sells fake watches and drugs, Clearnose Henry is a glue-sniffer and China holds the drugs that her boyfriend sells. All of these characters
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Jorge Iglesias are teenagers, between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, whose innocence has been destroyed by the brutality of the environment in which they struggle to live. The system does not care about them and they literally representas the title of the play indicatesa sideshow: an unpleasant reality that exists at the margin of the dominant culture, a subordinate event. The desperate circumstances in which they find themselves make Pieros characters aesthetically acceptable and often worthy of sympathy. It is not difficult to sympathize with Dominick Skorpios, the Greek immigrant of A Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon, who gets deported after marrying a woman that he believed to be Puerto Rican. Even characters like David Dancer, the pimp who is about to be shot as the curtain closes in Eulogy for a Small Time Thief, are portrayed humanely. Pieros characters are not examples of virtue; that does not mean that they cannot be depicted as human beings, however fallen they are. In the Nuyorican context of Pieros plays, the choice of a bilingual, oral language and of dispossessed characters points to one of the main purposes of native Hispanic literature, namely the desire to challenge hegemony. As Kanellos points out, Los nuyorican crearon un estilo y una ideologa que todava domina la escritura hispana urbana de hoy, que se enorgullece de ser obrera y no pide disculpas por su falta de educacin formal (Voz xxx). Oral and bilingual language opposes the official discourse as much as dispossessed characters stand in contrast to respectable members of society. By making these two elements a crucial part of his work, Piero emphasizes the counter-hegemonic nature of his culture, an ethnic group that has always existed parallel to the dominant culture, and whose voice Piero expresses in the form of a scream in the face of respectability. PRISON LITERATURE Perhaps the most significant element of Pieros plays when regarded as examples of prison literature is the choice of a restricted space as setting. All theatre is subject to the limits of some form of stage, but unity of space is not mandatory. Several playwrights, such as Jean-Paul Sartre, Tennessee Williams, Samuel Beckett and Peter Weiss have experimented with restricted areas in their effort to depict the interaction of human beings who are forced to coexist in a state of imprisonment. In most cases, this situation is optimal for representing dehumanization, as can be seen in Sartres No Exit (1945), Weiss
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Introduction to the Drama of Miguel Piero Marat/Sade (1964) and Becketts Endgame (1957), or even in Luis Buuels film El ngel exterminador (1962). Piero contributes to this tradition by presenting a variety of restricted spaces in which his characters enter into conflict with each other. The jail, which serves as setting for Short Eyes, is the restricted space par excellence, in which characters struggle to survive and find opposition not so much in authority as among themselves. In this instance, hell is truly other people, as Sartre would have it, and the only way for the inmates to escape this hell and reclaim their humanity is through a sense of fraternity and community, an ideal that, as Fiona Mills observes, is tightly related to the community-building purpose of Latino/a theatre in the 1960s (45-46). The jail, however, is not the only restricted space in Pieros work; as a matter of fact, of all his plays only Short Eyes takes place in this particular setting. The action of A Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon develops in a small workers luncheonette in the Times Square area; The Guntower is setas the title indicatesin a prison guntower; and Paper Toilet, by far the most extreme instance of a closed space, takes place in a subway station public restroom. It is not surprising, given these choices in setting, that an atmosphere of claustrophobia pervades Pieros plays. Roberto Irizarry goes as far as to relate this atmosphere with insularismo, Antonio Pedreiras notion of self-isolation as a component of the Puerto Rican national ethos (77). However debatable one might find this association, Irizarrys view of confinement as a reality that transcends racial distinctions is certainly a pertinent one. As the same critic observes, a white man is the object of derision and violence in Short Eyes, and Irving shows a Jewish man coming out of the closet (it would be difficult to find a more appropriate metaphor) as he confesses to his bourgeois family that he is a homosexual (Irizarry 87). Pieros characters are thus shaped by the reduced environment in which they move. Character and setting are inseparable in this case, and whether Pieros personal experience in prison or insularismo accounts for this is ultimately beside the point. Speaking about the prison system in the United States leads us to the issue of race, since a disproportionate percentage of inmates in U. S. prisons is made up of racial minorities. Ethnicity plays an important role in all of Pieros work, in keeping with the native Hispanic consciousness as an ethnic group that must struggle for its rights and for equality in a society dominated by a different group. Significantly enough,
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Jorge Iglesias the first two major Hispanic plays to be presented on Broadway Pieros Short Eyes and Luis Valdezs Zoot Suitdeal in one way or another with the criminalization of Latinos. In a recent article, Ashley Lucas analyzes the responses of New York reviewers to these two works, responses that are characterized by racial prejudice. While Zoot Suit received many negative reviews, Short Eyes was afforded more praise, a phenomenon that Lucas attributes to the two plays different attitudes toward power. Pieros characters, Lucas says, struggle against their own shortcomings as well as the power structures which confine them, while the characters in Zoot Suit fight primarily against the system (132). If Valdezs play appears to be more counter-hegemonic than Short Eyes, however, this is not due to any type of timidity on Pieros part, but to artistic subtlety. Pieros more anti-establishment plays, such as The Guntower, have not enjoyed the success of Short Eyes because they express blatantly what Short Eyes presents in a more implicit manner. The fact is that the system plays a strongly repressive role in Short Eyes, not only through the prison itself, but also by fomenting division and animosity among prisoners, a task that is carried out precisely by stressing and exploiting the racial barriers that divide the inmates (Hames-Garca 168). The only character in the play who tries to breach this barrier is Juan Otero, who risks his reputation by seeking to understand Clark Davis. Despite his noble effort, however, Juan is not able to check the tragic development of events that ends with Davis murder. The system, with its ethnic divisions (encouraged by the jail guards), is simply too strong and implacable. Piero thus depicts a society divided by racial prejudices and exposes a prison system in which citizens are not reformed but led to brutality. Before addressing the final aspect of Pieros plays to be considered here, it must be stated that language also plays an essential role in Pieros works from the perspective of prison literature, as the playwright seeks to reflect the slang spoken by inmates. This purpose is most clear in Short Eyes, the title of which is derived from short heist, which is prison slang for pornographic materials (Alarcn McKesson 56) but in the argot developed by Piero has come to mean pederast. The first edition of the play, in fact, includes a glossary of prison slang terms to assist the reader. This is another example of Piero showing his ability to let his characters express themselves in their language, which is once again the language of a minority: a
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Introduction to the Drama of Miguel Piero closed group of inmates. As Douglas Taylor observes in Prison Slang and the Poetics of Imprisonment, prison language is driven by an impulse of deterritorialization in the face of authority. Prison writing, Taylor says, draws on the deterritorializing impulses of prison slang in order to [. . .] challenge the official discourse of the state regarding the nature of such things as crime and criminals, punishment and justice (242). Prison slang is to Authority what Spanglish or code-switching is to the dominant culture. In both cases, Piero exalts the position of the subaltern, giving him a voice that is suitable to his circumstances, a voice that allows him to express himself on his own terms. OUTLAW CULTURE It would be highly inadequate to speak of Piero without addressing the issue of the outlaw aesthetic, as all of his works illustrate the outlaw way of life in one form or another. The figure of the outlaw has a long history behind it, and it can best be understood through Eric Hobsbawms famous notion of the social bandit.2 Numerous books have been published on the subject, such as Paul Kooistras Criminals as Heroes: Structure, Power & Identity, in which historical figures such as Frank and Jesse James, Billy the Kid and Butch Cassidy are studied in the light of Hobsbawms theories. Unlike Hobsbawm, however, Kooistra does not regard the social bandit as a strictly rural phenomenon that cannot exist in modern society; on the contrary, modern developments such as the media and the idea of mass culture facilitate the existence of outlaw celebrities (161). Piero himself has gone from convicted felon to the subject of a film, and interest in his work continues to grow. What, then, is the meaning of outlaw culture? Miguel Algarn has established the parameters of this social and aesthetic position in the introduction to Nuyorican Poetry, the anthology that he co-edited with Piero: Wherever the true outlaw goes he alarms the balance of unjust authority. He refuses to be intimidated and repressed. [. . .] The outlaw can be out there confronting the outside by himself or he can be part of an organized action. Most outlaws in New York are on their own. They find organizing slow and
2

See Hobsbawms Primitive Rebels. xxi

Jorge Iglesias disappointing, often leading to humiliation because the general will is not compatible with theirs. The independent outlaw will Kill, Kill, Kill [the title of one of Pieros poems in the collection La Bodega Sold Dreams] rather than adjust and accommodate to insults and powerlessness. [. . .] The outlaw is morally free to act, to aggress against authority because he realizes that that is his power: he goes for broke whether it is for himself or for his friends or for his people. (26-27) The characters in Pieros The Sun Always Shines for the Cool constitute the perfect illustration of this attitude. Cat Eyes, the pimp who shows no scruples in his struggle to survive, is the embodiment of the outlaw spirit. To him, the end justifies the means, even if he has to turn Chile, the girl who loves him, into a prostitute. This type of behavior, which would be aberrant to a member of respectable society, has no negative moral implications for Cat Eyes. This does not mean, nevertheless, that there is no moral code for outlaws. Viejo, Chiles father, does follow a moral code based on honor when he announces his desire to kill Cat Eyes before the pimp can ruin his daughter. Outlaws come into conflict with each other when their individual struggles lead them to trespass each others boundaries. The outlaw, therefore, lives in constant danger: having rejected the rules of established society, he accepts the rules of survival that govern the streets. As Viejo puts it: You go out there on the streets and you meet [. . .] the world of greed and whatever other names have been defined for those that seek something outside the acceptances of society . . . and you stand with your balls exposed in this jungle of fear . . . and you battle . . . and you fight the hardest fight of your life (Sun 32). Outlaw culture, then, can be described neither as immoral nor as amoral; rather, it makes up its own set of rules at the margin of respectable society. Viejos tragic decision to shoot himself at the end of the play is ultimately the recognition of an inability to live by the outlaw code. Having been humiliated by both established and outlaw society, Viejo renounces life altogether in an act of self-sacrifice. As is to be expected from a playwright who paid close attention to the rhythm and nuances of speech, Piero also portrays outlaw culture through the language that his characters employ. One of the most notable features of Pieros plays is the abundant profanity, an element that is directly related to the urban and underclass setting of
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Introduction to the Drama of Miguel Piero these plays, the space in which the modern outlaw exists. As Carlos Morton observes, The Nuyorican scene is a street scene, a theatre of the barrio. Its ghetto artists paint the dialectics of survival (44). When describing the way in which the first Nuyorican plays came into being, Miguel Algarn stresses the playwrights preoccupation with street language as a part of the urban reality they sought to portray in their works: We looked for theatrical language that realistically portrayed life on avenues D, C, B and A, unlike the Hollywood versions epitomized by Kojak or Baretta (Action xv). Furthermore, in his introduction to Nuyorican Poetry, Algarn states, The impulse to create a language that can absorb aggression without fantasy thrives among people who are in situations of extremities (24). Established society favors respectability, propriety and decorum. The outlaw expresses himself in terms that many would consider vulgar, not so much out of reaction to established society, but because those terms are the ones that best describe the urban marginalized culture in which he moves, an environment characterized by noise, filth, crowdedness, violence and decay. For Piero the outlaw playwright, nothing is obscene; urban reality, and the reality of the dispossessed, must be brought to the stage in the raw. In Pieros plays, therefore, the foul language that offends so many spectators and readers is one of the elements that bestow dramatic credibility on the characters presented. As has been shown, Pieros work addresses issues that are pertinent to three different literary niches. In the sphere of Nuyorican literature, Pieros achievement resides in his ability to portray a racial and cultural minority realistically, with both compassion and pride. Pieros beloved Lower East Side provides not only the setting for a few of his plays, but also the cultural spirit that characterizes all of them, which is expressed in terms of bilingualism and opposition to the dominant culture. The urban reality of New York Puerto Ricans is thus elevated and presented to whomever wants to participate in it. Piero, it must be noted, was instrumental not only in bringing the stage to the streets, but also in bringing the streets to the stage. Where prison literature is concerned, the presentation of Short Eyes has been tremendously influential. Not only does the play portray prisoners and their daily struggle, it also comments on the systems criminalization of Hispanics and minorities in general. Through Short Eyes, Piero contributed to the subgenre of restricted-space drama, a tradition that links his work not only to that of Sartre and Weiss, but also to that of
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Jorge Iglesias contemporary playwrights who have chosen to explore similar settings and themes. Today, it is difficult to overlook Pieros influence on the work of Stephen Adly Guirgis, especially in his prison play Jesus Hopped the A Train (2001), which closely resembles Pieros work in setting, theme, language and choice of characters. Finally, Piero is also an exponent of outlaw literature, as his works express the feelings and disposition of those who have rejected social standards and composed their own personal code of morality outside of the system. These three aspects of Pieros plays are brought together by the main theme of marginality, which is central to every one of his works. Being a rebel himself, Piero felt drawn to those who have been left out of established society, something that is not surprising in one who took pride in being a problem of this land / [. . .] the Philosopher of the Criminal Mind / a dweller of prison time / a cancer of Rockefellers ghettocide (Bodega 5). A second aspect that unites the three areas in which we have placed Piero is a deep concern for language. Each area has its distinct approach to language: bilingualism and the oral tradition are integral parts of Nuyorican culture, prison slang allows prisoners to challenge the official discourse, and profanity is the outlaws native tongue. A comprehensive study of Pieros use of language is yet to be written. In conclusion, Miguel Piero represents a unique case in the history of Hispanic drama in the United States. His achievement assumes great merit when one considers the harsh circumstances under which he lived. His work is a testimony and homage to the struggle that Hispanic culture has always carried out in its effort to assert itself as a strong presence in a nation that either derides it or ignores it. His tragic deathwhich came when he was at the height of his artistic careerrepresents a severe loss and an implicit condemnation of a system in which many are left behind. His legacy, however, lives on, and we can hope that the renewed interest in Pieros work will lead more and more audiences and readers to appreciate the work of this Nuyorican poet and outlaw, whose message carries today the same power and vitality that it had when it was first expressed.

xxiv

Introduction to the Drama of Miguel Piero WORKS CITED Alarcn McKesson, Norma. Interview with Miguel Piero. Revista Chicano-Riquea 2.4 (1974): 55-57. Algarn, Miguel and Lois Griffith, eds. Action: The Nuyorican Poets Caf Theater Festival. New York: Touchstone, 1997. Algarn, Miguel and Miguel Piero, eds. Nuyorican Poetry: An Anthology of Puerto Rican Words and Feelings. NY: William Morrow & Co., 1975. Hames-Garca, Michael. Fugitive Thought: Prison Movements, Race, and the Meaning of Justice. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2004. Hobsbawm, E. J. Primitive Rebels: Studies in Archaic Forms of Social Movement in the 19th and 20th Centuries. NY: W. W. Norton & Co., 1965. Irizarry, Roberto. The House of Pretension: Space and Performance in Miguel Pieros Theatre. Latin American Theatre Review 37.2 (2004): 77-94. Kanellos, Nicols, et al, eds. En otra voz: Antologa de la literatura hispana de los Estados Unidos. Houston: Arte Pblico P, 2002. _____. A Schematic Approach to Understanding Latino Transnational Literary Texts. Imagined Transnationalism. U. S. Latino/a Literature, Culture, and Identity. Eds. Kevin Concannon, Franciso A. Lomel and Marc Priewe. NY: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. 2946. Kanellos, Nicols and Jorge Huerta, eds. Nuevos Pasos: Chicano and Puerto Rican Drama. Houston: Arte Pblico P, 1979. Kooistra, Paul. Criminals as Heroes: Structure, Power & Identity. Bowling Green, Ohio: Bowling Green State U Popular P, 1989. Lucas, Ashley. Prisoners of the Great White Way: Short Eyes and Zoot Suit as the First U.S. Latina/o Plays on Broadway. Latin American Theatre Review 43.1 (2009): 121-135. Mills, Fiona. Seeing Ethnicity: The Impact of Race and Class on the Critical Reception of Miguel Pieros Short Eyes. Captive Audience: Prison and Captivity in Contemporary Theater. Ed. Thomas Fahy and Kimball King. NY: Routledge, 2003. 41-64. Mohr, Eugene V. The Nuyorican Experience: Literature of the Puerto Rican Minority. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood, 1982. Morton, Carlos. Nuyorican Theatre. The Drama Review 20.1 (1976): 43-49.
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Jorge Iglesias Piero, Miguel. La Bodega Sold Dreams. Houston: Arte Pblico P, 1980. _____. Outrageous: One Act Plays. Houston: Arte Pblico P, 1986. _____. Short Eyes. New York: Hill & Wang, 1975. _____. The Sun Always Shines for the Cool. Houston: Arte Pblico P, 1984. Taylor, Douglas. Prison Slang and the Poetics of Imprisonment. Prose and Cons: Essays on Prison Literature in the United States. Ed. D. Quentin Miller. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co., 2005. 233-245.

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LA BODEGA SOLD DREAMS

La Bodega Sold Dreams

dreamt i was a poet & writin silver sailin songs words strong & powerful crashing thru walls of steel & concrete erected in minds weak & those asleep replacin a hobby of paper candy wrappin, collectin potent to pregnate sterile young thoughts

i dreamt i was this poeta words glitterin brite & bold strikin a new rush for gold in las bodegas where our poets words & songs are sung but sunlight stealin thru venetian blinds eyes hatin, workin of time clock sweatin & swearin & slavin for the final dime runnin a maze a token ride perspiration insultin poets pride words stoppin on red goin on green poets dreams endin in a factora as one in a million unseen
3

buyin bodega-sold dreams . . .

A Lower East Side Poem

Just once before I die I want to climb up on a tenement sky to dream my lungs out till I cry then scatter my ashes thru the Lower East Side.

So let me sing my song tonight let me feel out of sight and let all eyes be dry when they scatter my ashes thru the Lower East Side.

From Houston to 14th Street from Second Avenue to the mighty D here the hustlers & suckers meet the faggots & freaks will all get high on the ashes that have been scattered thru the Lower East Side.

Theres no other place for me to be theres no other place that I can see theres no other town around that brings you up or keeps you down no food little heat sweeps by fancy cars & pimps bars & juke saloons & greasy spoons make my spirits fly with my ashes scattered thru the Lower East Side . . .

A thief, a junkie Ive been committed every known sin Jews and Gentiles . . . bums and men of style . . . runaway child police shooting wild . . . mothers futile wails . . . pushers making sales . . . dope wheelers & cocaine dealers . . . smoking pot streets are hot & feed off those who bleed to death . . .
4

all thats true all thats true all that is true but this aint no lie when I ask that my ashes be scattered thru the Lower East Side.

So here I am, look at me I stand proud as you can see pleased to be from the Lower East a street-fighting man a problem of this land I am the Philosopher of the Criminal Mind a dweller of prison time a cancer of Rockefellers ghettocide this concrete tomb is my home to belong to survive you gotta be strong you cant be shy less without request someone will scatter your ashes thru the Lower East Side. I dont wanna be buried in Puerto Rico I dont wanna rest in long island cemetery I wanna be near the stabbing shooting gambling fighting & unnatural dying & new birth crying so please when I die . . . dont take me far away keep me nearby take my ashes and scatter them throughout the Lower East Side . . .

The Book of Genesis According to St. Miguelito

Before the beginning God created God In the beginning God created the ghettos & slums and God saw this was good. So God said, Let there be more ghettos & slums and there were more ghettos & slums. But God saw this was plain so to decorate it God created lead-base paint and then God commanded the rivers of garbage & filth to flow gracefully through the ghettos. On the third day because on the second day God was out of town. On the third day Gods nose was running & his jones was coming down and God in his all knowing wisdom knew he was sick he needed a fix so God created the backyards of the ghettos & the alleys of the slums in heroin & cocaine and with his divine wisdom & grace God created hepatitis who begat lockjaw who begat malaria who begat degradation who begat GENOCIDE and God knew this was good in fact God knew things couldnt get better but he decided to try anyway. On the fourth day God was riding around Harlem in a gypsy cab
6

when he created the people and he created these beings in ethnic proportion but he saw the people lonely & hungry and from his eminent rectum he created a companion for these people and he called this companion capitalism who begat racism who begat exploitation who begat male chauvinism who begat machismo who begat imperialism who begat colonialism who begat wall street who begat foreign wars and God knew and God saw and God felt this was extra good and God said VAYAAAAAAA. On the fifth day the people kneeled the people prayed the people begged and this manifested itself in a petition a letter to the editor to know why? WHY? WHY? Qu pasa, babyyyyy????? and God said, My fellow subjects let me make one thing perfectly clear by saying this about that: NO . . . COMMENT! But on the sixth day God spoke to the people he said . . . PEOPLE!!! the ghettos & the slums & all the other great things Ive created will have dominion over thee and then he commanded the ghettos & slums and all the other great things he created to multiply and they multiplied.
7

On the seventh day God was tired so he called in sick collected his overtime pay a paid vacation included. But before God got on that t.w.a. for the sunny beaches of Puerto Rico He noticed his main man Satan planting the learning trees of consciousness around his ghetto edens so God called a news conference on a state of the heavens address on a coast to coast national t.v. hook up and God told the people to be COOL and the people were cool and the people kept cool and the people are cool and the people stay cool and God said Vaya. . . .

This Is Not the Place Where I Was Born

puerto rico, 1974 this is not the place where i was born rememberas a child the fantasizing images my mother planted within my head the shadows of her childhood recounted to me many times over welfare loan on crdito food from el bodeguero i tasted mango many years before the skin of the fruit ever reached my teeth i was born on an island about 35 miles wide 100 miles long a small island with a rainforest somewhere in the central regions of itself where spanish was a dominant word & signs read by themselves i was born in a village of that island where the police who frequented your place of business, hangout or home came as servant or friend & not as a terror in slogan clothing i was born in a barrio of the village on the island where people left their doors open at night where respect for elders was exhibited with pride where courting for loved ones was not treated over confidentially where childrens laughter did not sound empty & savagely alive with self destruction . . . i was born on an island where to be puerto rican meant to be part of the land & soul & puertorriqueos were not the minority puerto ricans were first, none were second no, i was not born here . . . no, i was not born in the attitude & time of this place this sun-drenched soil this green-faced piece of earth this slave-blessed land where the caribbean seas pound angrily on the shores of pre-fabricated house/hotel redcap hustling people gypsy taxi cab fighters for fares to fajardo & the hot wind is broken by fiberglass palmtrees & highrise pltanos marano on leave & color t.v. looneytune cartoon comic-book characters with badges in their jockstraps & foreigners scream that puertorriqueos are foreigners & have no right to claim any benefit on the birthport
9

this sun-drenched soil this green-faced piece of earth this slave-blessed land where nuyoricans come in search of spiritual identity are greeted with profanity this is insanity that americanos are showered with shoe-shine kisses police in stocking caps cover carry out john wayne television cowboy law road models of new york city detective french connection/deathwish instigation ku-klux-klan mind panorama screen seems in modern medicine is in confusion needs a transfusion quantity treatment if youre not on the plan the new stand of blue cross blue shield blue uniform master charge what religion you are blood fills the waiting room of death stale air & qu pasa stares are nowhere in sight & night neon light shines bright in el condado area puerto rican under cover cop stop & arrest on the spot puerto ricans who shop for the flag that waves on the left-in souvenir stores puertorriqueos cannot assemble displaying the emblem nuyoricans are fighting & dying for in newark, lower east side south bronx where the fervor of being puertorriqueos is not just rafael hernndez Viet vet protest with rifle shots that dig into four pigs & sociable friday professional persons rush to the golf course & martini glasses work for the masses & the island is left unattended because the middle-class bureaucratic cuban has arrived spitting blue-eyed justice at brown-skinned boys in military khaki compromise to survive is hairline length moustache-trimmed face looking grim like a soldier on furlough further cannot exhibit contempt for what is not cacique-born this poem will receive a burning stomach turning scorn nullified classified racist from this pan am eastern first national chase manhattan puerto rico . . .

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Black Woman with the Blond Wig On

Dedicated to those magnificent black women & their blond wigs Black woman with the blond wig on youre living an illusion. Think that head blanket bought from macys on a lincoln sale will make the residents of forest hills lay out a black carpet to their blond streets because you have some blond horse hair on? Black woman with the blond wig on are you playing James Bond in blond secret agent in charge of repression congo blood? Black woman with the blond wig on is it your greatest desire to appear on t.v. welcome to Ive got a secret commercial? I dreamt I ran through the streets of Brownsville in my maiden form wig and no one noticed my skin. Now back to our show. Black woman with the blond wig on please tell the panel your secret. Black woman with the blond wig on can you imagine yourself on to tell the truth with three blonds on blond and youre black on blond commercial? Free, slave, black, twenty-one and blond. If I have but one life to live let me live it as a blond.
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Now back to our regularly scheduled program, with tonights special guest, the black woman with the blond wig. Will the real woman with the blond wig please stand up? Did you think you fooled anyone? Whats that you say? Oh, Im sorry you no longer have a blond wig on. Oh, I see youve bleached it blond. Yes, that does make a difference. All right, all right, black woman, with the blond, bleached hair I am not trying to put you down. All Im askin, you see, is what I truly want to know is, do blonds have more fun?

12

Jitterbugging Jesus

Tiempos is longin lookin for third world laughter to break out like a pimple on the face of a pimp of youthful latino eyes that chase el ritmo del giro en lo vagones del tren on school mornin shoutin broken spanish dream si t cocina como tu mam como hasta el pegao jitterbuggin in wrinkled worn-out jeans bailando new-found pride in bein nuyoricano . . . on their piss-stained streets where teens meet in head-on collision claimin colors on concrete cemetary slums slums that vomit screamin rumblin tongues ramblin for a crust of welfare cheese . . . here in this aroma of arroz y habichuela-tostones-pasteles . . . two triple culture lovers meet/embrace & tremblin hands lift pleated shirt-break an elastic band. in this cocaine-drenched hallway that has passed broken wine bottles & broken bulbs & broken homes & broken souls & the two lovers meet/reach out for each other under the view of a million cucarachas their pulsin bodies vibrate droppin droplets of sweat petals a river of nourishment for the rats scurryin across cracked mural walls graffiti screamin profanity under this ghetto umbrella a brown baby king is born Jess Jess Rodrguez who talked with his father on a garden firescape walked across the east river on empty beer cans changed six barrels of dope into a finely blended rum
13

was stoned out of school will be crucified on a set of works & will be crowned King of the Dope-Fiends . . .

14

Kill, Kill, Kill

Fired last week man was I mad. I dont mean angry or pissed off I was mad. I wanted to grab the boss and the foreman by their red necks, and kill, kill, kill. So I jumped on the elevator and bumped into my case worker who said that he was taking me off the rolls cause I was working, and that you people think you can get away with anything. I wanted to snag him by his $50.00 mod tie, and kill, kill, kill. So I crossed at the green with 60 others and the man gave me a ticket and said that was to serve as an example to the 60 others. I looked at his badge and wanted to kill, kill, kill, but I looked at his gun too. So I missed the express and took the local, sneaked home passing Mikey the groceryman, Tony the liquorman, the numberman and Louie the loansharkman, and all the other eternal bill-collecting men who I just wanted to kill, kill, kill. I ran into Rev Willy the preacherman who told me that the poor box was to put in and not take out like I did Sunday, so talking like as if I was a rich man, acting like I was a poor man. I ran into Mr. Goldman the social workerman, who said I was not underdeveloped enough, or culturally deprived enough to get into the projects, and besides I was working, and I wasnt on welfare. I wanted to take him and his never-ending legal folders, and kill, kill, kill. So I busted the key in the door and stepped into Blackies dog shit, and wiped it off with Juniors baby diaper and that was full of baby shit. So while relaxing I told Gloria of all the shit I had been through and she said I was full of shit. I said I wasnt bullshitting, she said that I wasnt shit, I said that I didnt want to hear no shit, she said that I still wasnt shit . . .
15

So I grabbed her by her fucking neck and threw her ass across the kitchen table and she went flying over the living room table and over the rest of the unpaid over-priced furniture landing on the over-worked bed, and I jumped in the air with the scream of an Apache warriors cry of battle and I kill, kill, killed . . . all my troubles away.

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Running Scared

RUNNIN SCAREDRUNNIN SCARED youre goin nowhere runnin with your eyes closed thinkin to ease your heavy load RUNNIN SCARED listen to the echoes of your shadows wishin for easy tomorrows talkin into the dead phones of yesterday RUNNIN SCAREDRUNNIN SCARED youre shifting youre lifting youre throwing it all away its plainly stamped on the backs of blue jeans the hopes and hopelessness of cast aside dreams super-star super-revolutionary high priest on neon signs playin today beggin mam for a dime runnin scared you gittin nowhere . . . compassion-compassion . . . in burnt bottle caps tenth of always your last stop god is the coca-cola bottlin company youve heard his voice on N.B.C. and when he gives it a rest listen to his son on C.B.S. brought to you live this aint no jive by your friendly neighborhood soul-buyin agency they aim to please good news aint guaranteed ask for mister lucifer the man with the friendly smile for your soul hell walk a mile
17

no trade in no deposits no return no credit cards accepted . . . but . . . you can take the layaway plan with easy pay a mint . . . RUNNIN SCAREDRUNNIN SCARED statue of liberty on 42nd street lookin like an old hag OR is it a guy in drag seee youuu laaattteerrr got to check out this female impersonator RUNNIN SCAREDRUNNIN SCARED and you still aint half way there cant pick up enough speed didnt listen to your own decree now youre stranded on this subway station called hypocrisy do you wish to take a runnin jump? cant smooth out the lumps on the highways roads and by-ways and theres a toll booth on this freeway (free way???) an abe or a george doesnt matter there aint no CHANGE . . .

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Seekin the Cause

he was Dead he never Lived died died he died seekin a Cause seekin the Cause because he said he never saw the cause but he heard the cause heard the cryin of hungry ghetto children heard the warnin from Malcolm heard the tractors pave new routes to new prisons died seekin the Cause seekin a Cause he was dead on arrival he never really Lived uptown . . . downtown . . . crosstown body was round all over town seekin the Cause thinkin the Cause was 75 dollars & gator shoes thinkin the Cause was sellin the white lady to black children thinkin the cause is to be found in gypsy rose or j.b. or dealin wacky weed and singin du-wops in the park after some chi-chiba he died seekin the Cause died seekin a Cause and the Cause was dyin seekin him and the Cause was dyin seekin him and the Cause was dyin seekin him he wanted a color t.v. wanted a silk on silk suit he wanted the Cause to come up like the mets & take the world series he wanted . . . he wanted . . . he wanted . . . he wanted to want more wants but he never gave
19

he never gave he never gave his love to children he never gave his heart to old people & never did he ever give his soul to his people he never gave his soul to his people because he was busy seekin a Cause busy busy perfectin his voice to harmonize the national anthem with spiro t agnew busy perfectin his jive talk so that his flunkiness wouldnt show busy perfectin his viva-la-polica speech downtown . . . uptown . . . midtown . . . crosstown his body was found all over town seekin a Cause seekin the Cause found in the potter fields of an o.d. found in the bowery with the d.d.t.s his legs were left in viet-nam his arms were found in sing-sing his scalp was on Nixons belt his blood painted the streets of the ghetto his eyes were still lookin for jesus to come down on some cloud & make everything ok when jesus died in attica his brains plastered all around the frames of the pentagon his voice still yellin stars & stripes 4 ever riddled with the police bullets his taxes bought he died seekin a Cause seekin the Cause while the Cause was dyin seekin him he died yesterday hes dyin today hes dead tomorrow died seekin a Cause died seekin the Cause & the Cause was in front of him & the Cause was in his skin & the Cause was in his speech
20

& the Cause was in his blood but he died seekin the Cause he died seekin a Cause he died deaf dumb & blind he died & never found his Cause because you see he never never knew that he was the Cause.

21

La Caonera del Mundo

Que yo me cago en la madre tierra que te pari me meo en el cielo que te cubri le escupo al viento que te acarici te hablo a ti, bandera americana a ti que me ves andando por las calles de new york mientras chillas como un carro pegando freno spick sal de atrs de esa corbata blanca que asalta el calor de ser humano el calor de mantener una familia con la miseria que me pagas por el calor de mi sudor y no me dejas vivir en paz con tu spick changuera y yo le pido a chang que te destruya tu idioma que te caiga a bimbazo a tu cultura que te llene a tus hijos con ideales postizos que te ponga a tus hijas en las esquinas to hustle con las pantaletas cagadas mojadas con la sangre verde del peso americano el peso de no ser lo que t eres, un enano entre los gigantes manicomio de estrellas sucias que yo me cago en la madre tierra que te pari que yo me meo en el cielo que te cubri que yo le pego un gargajo al viento que te acarici t, bandera americana caonera del mundo.

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Spring GardenPhiladelphia

Spring Garden wears a welfare coat . . . in the summer Fashion-minded eyes trod up & down its streets enjoying graffiti . . . sprinkled on the walls by bored fingers/ bored thoughts/from excitement-lacking espritus . . . Its 8 oclock in the morning & latin bodies bundle up to war against the city . . . Children venture on their suicide mission SCHOOL/a battlefield of non-existent education Libraries are open 22 sundays a year . . . The parents have headed off their cares to do battle themselves . . . The factories/the bosses/the foremen former countrymen compais . . . Cold callous metal concrete city streets where smiles come hungry from the eternal bill collector . . . Its 12 pm & fist fights break out on the charity lunch lines . . . empty-trouble-soothing wine bottles are tossed regretfully in the gutterflies/bugs/maggots/roaches struggle for the corner taste the human tongues didnt reach . . . The pushers are up from their beauty sleep counting last nights take, discounting todays pay-off . . . decking duces & treys . . . their open-air pharmacy on 14 & green is being held by Don Ernesto el bolitero giving Doa Clara evil-brujo stares
23

Evil-brujo stares to Doa Clara la espiritista & the starving crowd beggin el seor santo to agree with Doa Claras dreams & omen interpretations for once . . . por favor today is a good day to hit the number . . . Doa Clara prays too . . . theres a fifty dollar tip in store mira mira me pegu & a trip pa la isla . . . A mucho needed vacation. Its 6 pm & the latin people who go dancing are copping nickle bags of good columbian yerba (Eddie Palmieri will be in town tonight) SALSA whos got the best smoke in town Flaco Tabaco-Tabaco suelto y en saco an american proverb: If you dont advertise you dont sell . . . El bodeguero is cursing his wife/his helper/ his-self he ordered enough milk but not enough beer . . . cause the day has given up to the night & the ghetto is hot . . . La calle is occupied/shrill shreaking sounds of ring go leevio . . . hide & seek up & down the street . . . young girls in tight jeans flirt with longhaired youths . . . who offer whistles & comments & promises Oye, negra to eso tuyo? Si te cojo, nena! Qu lo te buscar!
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Pero qu buena est la hija! Pero qu buena est la mam! The turf is filled with jbaro y salsa msica qu viva la msica . . . Stoops are now tournament centers for dominplaying friends . . . bandstands for conga-playing hands . . . tu cul pa cul pa . . . boom pa . . . boom pa . . . Theres a lovers argument in the middle of the block a heated argument in the bar . . . a family argument on the steps . . . Me cago en tu madre, hijo la gran puta! La tuya que me comadre! Police car has circled this barrio 5 times screaming birth has been heard in apt 3 silent death has visited next door . . . O.D. Its 11 pm & 8 tired wrinkled old faces sit & contrive memories on the steps of the youth department . . . And now as I go back in Rositas car to my lonely hotel . . . that warm safe secure feeling escapes from my body . . . and I remember that I am in Philadelphia and not on the lower east side . . .

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Cocaine NoseAcid Face

Cocaine nosecocaine nose carefully takin cocaine blows make believe crucifix cokedom spoon Cocaine nosecocaine nose have you graduated to cocaine holes? . . . jive sly bedford stybuy yeah buy coca y cido from Flaco an undercover agent for the narcos . . . has you under surveillance y has been trailin your mothers legs since she started displayin her varicose veins stompin thru this sewage drink of coca y cido . . . cocaine nosecocaine nose carefully takin cocaine blows have your sons graduated to cocaine holes? life con coca makes you a supersonic idiotic chaotic psychotic neurotic spic with a brain-infested cocaine-molested acid mindddd . . . cocaine nosecocaine nose have you graduated to your cocaine holes? Acid faceacid face dreamin livin laced up spaced out so-called state of grace cidocido with coca blows . . . acid face acid face not a trace of intelligence-based follow your chase the maze of becomin an acid facean acid face si la coca y cido te ha volao el coco y ahora you go loco buscando cido . . .
26

god is amazed that youve become an acid face cocaine nosecocaine acid faceacid face cocaine noseacid face acid facecocaine nose have you graduated to your acid coca holessssss? . . .

27

Visitin a Friend at the Cold Shop

In the place of business lunches where a dull sun rises to blind your toothpaste-brushed eyelids with its red veins blowin tracks from ballpoint-hypodermic needles that tickled your gut & scratched your toes frozen by the light of the midafternoon moon & closed the closet door of your mind that kept you informed of the escalator the priest used when he baptized you with the last rites . . . we are gathered here today to spit out curses at this fool who up & died on us & left us with all his debts & blueface bill collectors & buried his self with credit card suit let us pray to god almighty that the lottery ticket we found hidden in his right shoe will hit the prize in life & help us elevate & escalate the cost of this funeral party nobody brought along a transister portable radio to hear the score of the basketball game being played at the local neighborhood playlot uptown at the bowery so lets hook up the portable t.v. to the stolen car battery & watch as the world turns maybe the creep will be bored to life & regain his claim to manhood by facin off the man & collect unemployment from the dope pushers of factoras job & time clocks & hero sandwishes & cheap cold wine
28

why am i bein so mean to this man who lost his underwear at the macdonald store & had them fed to him as the chef s main menu stew man his shoes look good shit why he aint gonna give them no usethe worms will only abuse the leather in the laces everybody that didnt know him came today to pay their final first impression respect & steal from the collection box placed on top of his toupee im glad they didnt take him to long island long island is a very traffic-dangerous trip brooklyn is a cheaper bon voyager la isla is too expensive

unless we send him parcel post & air mail stamped on his forehead go thru customs inspection has anybody got a peanut butter & jelly sandwich left over from the school hour lunch break & my heart aches for my partner who left me all his dues to collect from our cocaine dealer who turns out to be a paid squealer & send his friends in for dollars man this is the longest five minutes i ever spent let me make my inspection & spend ten cents to call my only true friend the connection . . .
29

On the Lock-In
lock-in night time

i hear shuffling of cards (no mail) brothers playing solitaire

i am alone earphones hang unused stack of unread century-old books cover the table & the cigarettes cut in two cast

I still think of you & the brothers voices

in the stream of solitude fight a losing battle whos singing that blue tune? & brother in the nest & the sox won &

(lights out) coughing must be doing on the surface what i just did I thought of you resemble the freckles & on a white boys face i masturbated dick ricardo invites should i me to saint george fix a cup of kool-aid big dance & latin voice sings to the sound of a sax duels with the notes of a flute on the gallery below brothers voices fight to harmonize a du-wop PUERTO RICO & (count time) & the jingling of a hack key are now an odd sound

30

On the Day They Buried My Mother . . .

The wind pushed the sun behind the moon and in the dark of light I saw shadows trailing the cool

Autumn shook hands with winter just before it died Summer leaves bloomed and ran away on a spring ride Clouds wrote an epithet on a mountain tombstone for an ant a deer laid dead on a fresh water stream and the hunter cursed beneath his breath at the spirits of the stars who caused the deers death . . . The earth shook with laughter as the spades tickled its side and gleamed so pretty with so many forgotten flowers from those final cadillac brides My hat fell in the open grave my feet inside my shoes swayed my gloves were wet with sweat looked quickly in the mirror of my heart sign a relief . . . and calmly smiled my fears aside . . .

31

La gente que no se quiere pa na con la lengua

El sbado por la noche la selva de cemento est brillando y las cuchillas estn bailando y los hosiadores estn buscando los soquetas con sus pasos misteriosos y parece que todo est flojo porque dice la gente que no se quiere pa na con la lengua que en los ojos de los nios la palabra escrita grita crimen y le pone sombras a las estrellas porque ven que el pendejo le paga al cabrn de la vida y la gente que no se quiere pa na con la lengua dice que en el lower east side lo malo se pone bueno y que lo bueno se pone malo los sbados por la noche y si te coje la polica ni el mdico chino te salva t sabes as dice la gente que no se quiere pa na con la lengua y en los roofos duermen los que les apesta la vida gritndole a las chinchas y a las cucarachas y los piojos bueno as dice la gente que no se quiere pa na con la lengua y dicen que estos son los hombres con la moronga hecha de cartn y que pelean contra la lucha de antenoche de hoy y de maana t sabes pero todos son padres y madres con retratos de prisin en sus mentes y el ritmo de conga en sus piernas cuando andan por el bloque pero yo no s porque todo eso es lo que dice la gente que no se quiere pa na con la lengua t sabes . . .

32

The Menudo of a Cuchifrito Love Affair

la ruca juanita rosita esposita they called her mexicana rose con piel de canela pelo darker than bustelo caf eyes big like rellenos color of a ripe avocado her lips tasted like seasoned mangos and her body was sweet as coconut milk this menudo of beauty made my taco nights burn like jalapeos s seor . . . my heart was a tortilla then one riceless beanless night after a heated chilly pepper tequila fight she left left me like a burnt pork chop for a chitlin hamhock buckwheat eatin man who wore a watermelon wallet & a collard green conversation disturbing my macho machete pride so that la mancha de pltano reminded me that I was a weak mondongo my love . . . my life . . . my pride was a burnt chicharrn a cold mofongo a melted piragua I turned into a hot tamale state of rage an alcapurria gone insane when I saw these two enchiladas in a pastelillo embrace so in my pasteles envy my tostn jealousy that my salchicha eyes spied the chorizo the mad morcilla drive as fue que fueron traspasados los dos bacalaos and now with my burrito strike displaying my quenepa pride
33

in my tamarindo smile I remember the pegao and the uncooked taste of the frijol menudo of my cuchifrito love affair . . .

34

New York City Hard Times Blues

NYC Blues Big time time hard on on me blues New York City hard sunday morning blues yeah Junkie waking up bones ache trying to shake New York City sunday morning blues the sun was vomiting itself up over the carbon monoxide detroit perfume strolling down the black asphalt dance floor where all the disco sweat-drenched Mr. Marios summer suit still mambo-tango hustled to the tunes of fiberglass songs New York City sunday morning means liquor store closed bars dont open til noon and my connection wasnt upping a 25-cent balloon yeah yeah reality wasnt giving me no play telling me it was going to be sunday 24 hours the whole day it was like the reincarnation of the night before when my ashtray became the cemetery of all my lost memories when a stumble bum blues band kept me up all night playing me cheap F.M. dreams of hard time sad time bad time hell we all know times are hard sad bad all over well I thought of the pope welfare hopes then I thought of the pope again whose sexual collar musta been tighter than a pimps hat band
35

yeah that brought a warm beer smile to this wasteland the mirror called my face ya see I left my faith in a mausoleum when my inspiration ran off with a trumpet player who wore double-knit suits and stacy adam shoes this girl left me so broke my horoscope said my sign was a dead dog in the middle of the road yeah the morning will be giving up to the noon and soon Ill hear winos and junkyard dogs howling at the moon made the shadows dance at jakes juke saloon as a battalion of violet virgins sang tunes of deflowered songs men poured their fantasies of lust into young boys ears car stolen whizzed by crying hard luck tears in beers the love conflict of air-conditioned dim-lit motel rooms rumpled sheets with blood stains explain my yesterday night of mind the winter fell as hard as the smell of a brick shithouse in the hot south Om . . . but the hawk seeped into my home chillin my bones Om . . . it didnt hear my incantation there has to be an explanation wasnt it true when you
36

Om . . . you are one Om . . . make me warm Om . . . is part of god Om . . . make the cold wind stop Om . . . perhaps if I Om . . . stronger Om . . . louder Om . . . LONGER OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM it dont work Om . . . I feel like a jerk Ill try once more just to make sure OMMMMM maybe if I pleaded on my knees to J. C. hed take heed of my needs and melt the icicles from the tears in my eyes but it was still cold Im told if you sing Im gonna lay down my sword and shield down by the river side . . . down by the river side I get no signal maybe if I do it bilingual en la cruz, en la cruz yo primero vi la luz oh come on chuto have a heart take apart the winter winds from me please . . . J. C. . . . OM . . . en la cruz down by the river side 10 hail marys I offer and 5 our fathers but the cold was no further
37

than before I should know its very rare when a prayer gets the boiler fixed OMMMMM yeah New York City december sunday morning was whippin my ass in a cold-blooded fashion treatin me like a stepchild putting a serious hurting on me watching me bleed thru my sleeves as I tried to get high shooting up caffeine without saccarine that some beat artist sold me down on eldredge st. yeah but thats the ghetto creed that the strong must feed yeah brotherman everything was happening faster than the speed of sound my whole seemed like it was going down I wonder who ever wrote that tune about being back on top in june nigger forgot about september and december now thats a month to remember when each cold day becomes like a brick wall and youre the bouncing ball yeah I kept seeing my fate being sealed by the silk smooth hands of the eternal bill collector who keeps rattling my doorknob pressing my avon ding dong bell . . . my pockets were crying the blues telling me that I aint fed them a dollar in years and was it clear that they couldnt hold any more unpaid debts . . . traffic tickets . . . or promissory notes and hey that was when I wished I was back in L.A. laid back L.A. kick back
38

L.A. smog town hollywood . . . driving down to malibu hollywood U.S.A. . . . hey hey U.S.A. hollywood seedy looking film producers smile at you over a burrito with taco bell breath explain the plots to fellini movies they aint ever seen hollywood . . . down to malibu at two a.m. if you get tired of cal worthington shit-eating grin you walk out on him hit santa monica blvd and watch the manicured thumbs caress the homosexual airs of rolled-up jeans and silver buckles as westwood camaro rides very slow very low down western ave where neon lights scream the latest kick in adult entertainment masturbation enters your thoughts when pornographic stars with colgate smiles whisper inane mundane snides of flicking your bic or Im nancy fly with me national well Im going nowhere got nowhere to go going nowhere fast got me a couple of dollars a few dimes and plenty of time go into some bar on alvarado and temple listen to some mariachi music or stroll into some dive joint off sunset sit in some naugahyde booth with some dishwater blond with sagging breasts wearing a see-thru blouse and listen to all her 1930-starlet dreams as she smokes all my cigarettes sure what have I got back at that refugee from a leprosy colony hotel but a one-station a.m. radio feeding my neurological cells with those south street philadelphia blues
39

she wants to cruise thru griffin park no thank you Id rather listen to linda ronstadt instead and the bartender tell dirty jokes and his customers recite 12%-alcoholicaluminum-recycled viet nam horror stories reading the signs of our times the obituary of a dying society the folktales of yesteryears gonorrhea history hollywood going down to malibu malibu . . . pretty people and fonzi T-shirts flex their muscles spreading spiritual bad breath and joe namath perfume yeah but im in new york city crying the junkie blues welfare afro hairdos sprout out of frye boots yeah punk rockers hitting on you for subway fare three times soon the mohair slick lines at penn station are getting impatient wanna get home to alone make the scene with a magazine or with a plastic doll cause the missus got another headache gaze at the farrah foster poster that adorns his horny teenage sons walls yeah these days always have a way of showing up like rubber checks I wish I could cop a bottle of muscatel stroll thru the bowery with a pocket full of wino dreams but sunday morning in New York City for the junkie there aint no pity we just walk the streets with loaded dice and hear people say there goes miky miky piero they call him the junkie christ . . .
40

PREVIOUSLY UNPUBLISHED POEMS FROM THE CYCLE OF LA BODEGA SOLD DREAMS

Obreras

quizs soy profeta que de mi celda veo las gotas de sudor que corren por la frentes de mi hermanas trabajadores caen en las mquinas de cocer de la madrugada hasta la muerta del sol y nacimiento de luna en ese calor de cocina que llaman factora broadway y lafayette quizs soy espiritista siento dolor en mis piernas cuerpo cansado no simpatista luchando hora tras hora por una miseria desayuno taza de caf los ojos del boss penetrando un espritu malo en las espaldas tocada sexual del foreman las miradas de los tteres manos de tecatos en las carteras en el subway empaquetados como animales los americanos comunican la falta de bao y ansiedades por despedir ese olor malo y el otro da la misma lucha con la vida a buscar el peso
43

el mismo pugilato la mismo tira y tpate qu eso que llaman lunch break? almuerzo de hot dog y coca cola s quizas soy profeta porque el ojo de mi mente agarra para mi corazn todos dolores de mis hermanas, obreras alma de mi esperanza ve un nuevo da que mata la tarde de opresin una gran unin de obreras acaban con el maltrato que le pega a sus espritus libres sueo sueo que veo en las calles do noo joll miles y miles de obreras gritando con el nimo de una sola voz BASTA YA. . . .

44

Declaration 1968

This child . . . this child felt the cold storms of winter on those hot summer days . . . this child went hungry on the banquet table of the church . . . this child played with roaches and rats for pets and found her sister lying dead beneath a bottle cap . . . YES, MOTHERFUCKERS, I AM MILITANT this child was innocent of the big money plays was ignorant of the teachers racist ways . . . this child knew not why her brother died in a foreign landkilled by her brothers hands YES, I AM A RADICAL this child cried at the movies laughed at mickey mouse & reached the twilight of sleep with story-book fantasies of a white knight on a white horse loving his white lady fair in a white dress cheated by a black mistress in a white dream . . . this child walked happy to religious instructions in her second-hand clothes and slept restlessly on a lice-infested bed . . .

can you feel the anger in my heart can you see the tears fall from my face can you see them these tears that control the hate? . . . Because. . . . this child was wanted dead . . .
45

YES, YOU DEGENERATE MOTHERFUCKERS, I AM A REVOLUTIONARY

Bastard Streets

The rain showered down un tumbao a conga beat on bastard streets its music memories me back to any hot scorch july on bay 13 Bastard streets soakin with polluted rain active detergent washin saturday nights fanfair & blood rites over manhole into the livin room of twenty-foot rats & waterbugs Bastard streets supportin walkin mumblin zombies fishin for substances in white powder sewers communicatin with god at the point of a needle gun Bastard streets screamin colors fly high on the back on young nations blowin each other away as easy as they blow a quarter in a jukebox Colors that stride a rumble sway on blacktop streets fowl stink breath bastard streets broken wine bottles keep a steady almost competitive toll with the cheerful cry of broken souls the depressed laughter of broken homes

vaya, juega, for the tuberculosis spit pregnatin the hollow hallways of tenement ruins with the melodies of young latin hands beatin telephone therapy on garbage can tops/sides of milk crates beer bottles & cans . . . mothers sufferin from police bullets sirens blastin holes in silent huracn nights on bastard streets wild elephant farts perfume 42nd street movie houses
46

updrift/upstage sweet smell & sounds of marijuana poppin eyes peeps y over your shoulders, chantin tongues slap dry lips heavy breath makes it uneasy almost impossible DAMMIT MOTHERFUCKIN MIERDA you cant even take a piss in these Bastard streets . . .

47

Transtime Meditation

Transtime meditation transcend into my pen presentiment stored up like juice bar batteries blasting down walls with rock sounds crazy moving masculine legs spread themselves out to you & me to see the need they have to be needed into featherbed movie house cushion seats where callous missing fingers trail up caressing young thigh five-dollar bill scream passport entry into blue jean zippers not butter popcorn spills top of marshmallow shoes mannequin in blues spy the sky light that filters thru keyholes steambath melt icing words pushcart sex-selling market stroll jingling loose change changes that tingle the brain changes that tingle the spine that tingle a crime for sale & wails the almighty latino bendito blues as six-yr-old girl receives extra belly button by bullet pouch creations strange things jump off in chemical illusionary airstrips circumcise streets where high priest release torrents of poetry into abscess eardrums O.D. brains & Lucky signs I got acid-acid thatll make your cranio dance make your plant stand-turn your eyebrows green your mocoso white-your eyeball will disappear out of sight-dont you know-itll make your afro grow-guaranteed by me Lucky Cienfuegos Mother Earth fills my head with bulldozing words cause transtime meditation transcends into my pen . . .

48

A Latin Trip

i went to a Latin Dance held in the galaxy all the worlds were twirlin wild as if the universe had gone mad . . . Eddie Palmieri went insane in the milky way drivin the zodiac into a frenzy an orgy of latin sounds so that Virgo couldnt wear white at her weddin with the archer whose arrows were the sperms of long-lost found rhythms from the cradle of soul fillin the twins with macho melodies that one did a mambo with the bull the other a cha-cha con el chivo loco & Santo singin got those two percaos head so together they finished his bolero & swam away in the same direction . . . Then Mango rolled up on the back of a lion rip-off the water bearers barrels his hard hands chanted a tune that filled the pockets of the moon with the stars causin poets to write about starless nites . . . in between time god was listenin to Bimbo Rivas recite poetry from the peak of a mountain on Jupiter Felipe Luciano rode the rings of Saturn as he talked con san Miguel Algarn . . . Jorge Brandon turn the red rivers of mars blue with spanish words & images of yesteryear after Pedro Pietri filled the big dipper with nuyorican then the spirits relaxed & sat back to watch a battle of the bands Ray Barreto vs. Willie Coln Ray stole by saint peters pearly gates
49

organized a six-piece combo with Gabriel on trumpet Arsenio Rodrguez on piano . . . they launched a barrage of celestial heavenly vibrations makin it a sexual climax . . . of pride Willie came in & made me go berserk conductin an orchestra of angels with broken wings shootin at me hot salsa from hell . . . cgelo . . . cgelo . . . vaya . . . se la comi

50

Windy Music Screams Profanity

Near the waterfall of dead ants roaches bathed in d.d.t. kitchen tubs the walls exhale bad breath while toilet bowls lysol feeding lice exchange telegrams via police personal ad columns with the f.b.i. informers amen said the man with a melancholy baby hangover the glasses fogged themselves out into oblivion & warehouse poets filled the wastebasket with office-type 9-to-5 jobs for sandy hair fellows carrying the new york times blanket to park outside the tonsils of press releases accusin you of not having enough money to overpay your television taxes to your radio after they mugged you for your union dues when they caught you nodding in a toilet stall after you kept your eyelashes rolled up all night waiting for a cool breeze to rumble thru your window & cool the heat on your ass moving up & down exercising your hips in a city-owned bedspring you picked up at the thrift shop near the c.i.a. headquarter where they rent out cuchifrito pushcarts to pimple-face faggots swishing the buttocks tappin each cheek gently the .38 fits loosely around their waist erecting a steel cock that shoots lead sperm into the heads & mouths of black childs who are buried with the daily news wrapped tightly inside their mothers wombs but the wind screams profanity with each easy sound of music that spills out the flat diapers of tropic babies . . .

51

Vente Conmigo

Vente, puertorriqueo vamos amarrar los yanqui businessman que amarran our isla con billetes verdes con las tripas de nuestra rabia los intestinos de los partidos independistas que bochinchan uno contra el otro da tras da tras da y noche tras noche tras noche perdimos la patria Vamos a guindar los americanos con las tripas para que cuando los gusanos abran la boca para gritar les pegamos un gargajo verde mojoso moscoso tuberculoso apestoso

Vamos a cagarnos en la tierra de la madre que destruye nuestra criatura y sus ideales de ser borincano vente, muchacho vente, muchacha co mai y compai vente, viejo vente, vieja nieto
52

Guy LombardoBack in Town

Winters white-haired old men sipping soup in shadowy balcony bench remembering that heart throbtrembling bones felt to the groundbecause GUY LOMBARDOBACK IN TOWN

Henry Ford breathed easy last in air-condition padJesus Christmaking his second comeback fast a rising super-star cause the man with the big pull said Fire next go-round or GUY LOMBARDO will be back in town

Its destruction in atom bombs, said the white-tooth man out in television land . . . and the trumpeteers and tambourine-shakers santa clause money-makers feel the time is near at hand while parents scream amazed at the woodstock nations crazy sounds praying GUY LOMBARDO back in town A new school of thought, a new program of life . . . cosmic consciousness balancing out the scales going incoming outmoving about nobodys trying to shout the other down that GUY LOMBARDO back in town

Its a new generation, a new age of soul sensation with feel-free proclamations Villages Voices Ramparts Playboy MS Cosmopolitan fists in the airangry yells everywhere boycottsand all the ins that is in to the inner of the inner insbig mango? So, you see, why its easy to drownall the sounds bitchingcrying hard-luck tearsof greasy spoons juke saloonsand the jukebox just broke down cause . . . there aint no room for GUY LOMBARDO to be back in town.
53

A Carnival

Perpetual

Inconsistent

Commentary

and the spring-time revolutionaries, appear on the scene along with the flowers and song birds of the morning.

Poem

singing-changing-humming a harded rehearsed improvised tune no beatno rhythmno soulno nothing while the seasoned veterans are thrown in obscurity in the new york times a paragraph at the bottom of the obituary column 8 mild militants detour signs on the turnpike, readying the highway for the summer radicals wholl populate the streets like autumn leaves on a high, strong wind converging upon the avenues like a herd salvation army santa clauses at christmas times chiming their bells in pamphlets 7 revolutionary poses for the daily news screaming profanity in geraldo riveras ear 6 far beyond the scope of truth is the inevitable trutha fucking lie. by el hijo de adelina . . . 5 tornado jane fonda and her whirlwind winter soldiers received by a sympathetic-synthetic columnist a line on page one hundred and four whats around town in the village voice whos getting a sore throat $ EXTRA EXTRA EXTRA carlos & humberto feliciano & pagn will appear together for the first time a half-inch of space will be allowed to them in the middle of a ten-page advertising spread of client on the square,
54

right on tip top of the pictures of the little boys & girls in their underwear. for further details stay tuned to the real early, early, early news report . . . summer radicals & spring-time revolutionaries & mild militants inside a thermos bottle keeping warm, waiting to be poured out at the lunch break easy to be hot & red mild militants revolutionary rhetoric from the readers digest & quotations from chairman spiro agnew . . . quote end of quote . . . while the hot dog man & his pushcart grow like millionaires & keep the summer radicals from starving to life . . . 5 hot acid tune, hot acid cool mourning for a high priest in limbo ginsberg prophesy and no one wants to pray on the mantra toilet tissues for writing poems of clairvoyant human waste flush 4 still the summer radicals fear the falling leaves premonition of retirement to the automatic life of the automated (horny & hard on for bread) mild militant captains of covered wagons pioneers to roy wilkins harlem hey, snap your fingers for the blacker than black shop afro-pix made in japan dashikis from korea from goldbergs wholesale store, yeah, yeah, babie 3 spring-time revolutionaries warm up the guitars for cold hot coffeehouses IN*TEE*LECT*TU*AL*IZE the genocide of the housefly drop some spanishfly in ten year old expressodemonstration anyone? 2 buy the underground press at your local newstandbecause . . .
55

dondi is a reactionary provocateur, whos pimping off orphan annie to daddiewarbucks lil abner came out of the closet screaming gay power daisy mae is dick tracy in drag and friday foster is a refugee from the jewel box reviews 1 before you race a horse, learn to ride the mule (el jibarito de gurabo) 2 luxurious concentration camps 13 stories high . . . gil noble interviews the american negro association for the election of john birch young americans for freedom run rampant in borinquen while muoz marn writes the history in france just before the cock crowed thrice we denied him a trillion times 3 SNAP CRACKLE POP GUY LOMBARDOS BACK IN TOWN . . . 4 and each june the oppressors down the boulevard of tyranny fly next to the oppressed here i am please kill me some more or in a false bud for recognition i have more to be exploited still thank you. whos rafael hernndez? dance to a lawrence welk mambo . . . cause even nixon does the cha-cha-ch y the marine corps band and chairman mao imitated flip whacha see is whach u git and george wallace fantasizes on geraldine pocket pool too? u bet! 3 national pastime is on strike . . . 98 and the earth has bad breath and no ordinary mouth would do nor could a copper band cure the rheumatism of the world cause the only thing sweet is roberta flack singing 56 capitalist are selling communism communists are buying capitalism socialism is up 3 points fascism got a capital gain
56

dictatorialism is bullish democracy is bearish would anyone care to buy the human race cheap-slightly-used people for sale just add a thingamajig and presto just like new hurry the sale wont last long 99 the saddest thing in life is a little guy with a sad face and fat people who fall down and old men who shed tears and a lone basketball player in a crowded park or on a rain-swept court 77 sig heil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (with an american accent) 25 american-owned-cuban-controlled-puerto-rican-read newspapers latin music by yanki d.j.s qu pasa hey. man. whats happening with your pasa, baaabbbyyy robert shelton, jr. yelling black power in a black sheet on . . . qu pasa, baaabbbyyy. pasa qu a fool waits for the sun to rise an idiot goes to china by a dummy

57

Perhaps Tomorrow

PERHAPS TOMORROW will bring a true tomorrow and well no longer drift into other worlds in other times in other loves in other shadows PERHAPS TOMORROW will open other gardens void of forbidden fruits without the eastern eden

PERHAPS TOMORROW well cast into eternity the pantomine of self-deception closets will open retrieving from their corners the opal touch of love PERHAPS TOMORROW when their worlds are far away and the love in our eyes is the only guide in the resurrection where love is the truth defined in a tomorrow of perhaps PERHAPS TOMORROW OUR HEARTS will cease to be an ocean of pain or a river of suffering and a mountain of desires for a tomorrow of fantasy

PERHAPS TOMORROW the walls of the prisons built on mystical disease will crumble and wash away like the sandcastles on the beach
58

PERHAPS TOMORROW for other spirits there will be this tomorrow perhaps tomorrow will be my today to become my yesterday of perhaps where I will need no tomorrow PERHAPS TOMORROW . . .

59

A Step Toward Insanity

woman with her madness stood b4 a road fading at each blink of the eye & arms out-stretched to nowhere. . . .

(for phillis chesler)

was it fearing the kaleidoscopic flashes of sanity????? thought it over again & the road appeared strong-healthy-safe & beckoning . . . there were no hills & no potholes to shake the spirit smooth & paved with the lack of struggle . . . smooth & paved with an ox burden . . . can WE let it go????? how can we, knowing beyond the cosmetic detour signs, lay the streets of self . . . the thought stood b4 the fading rd. laughing at the madness surrounding its sanity & took its first step toward insanity & being. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . woman
60

Mango Dreams

we woke in the middle of our nightmare stand at the greasy spoon over a cup of oil & roasted toast & boiled our heads in wet cement & shattered the mango dreams of owning prehistoric mannequin ideas in prefabricated hopes the fiberglass laughter of the hungry empty time clock punched holes into our salary hearts that sweated away the ice in our veins & strained our ears to hear department store music playin thru the remote control fingers of standard gasoline breath we want to move our bowels but the foremans face feels out of groove hes not in the mood got to get on the move ten more deliveries to make & shake the dust of my teeth still licking the hero sandwich dinner oh, shit he gonna choose me to work overtime & make up the space of bein late twice this week my excuses were weak tried to explain the pain my son had near his school when they shoved a dirty needle into his brain & that the snow kept seepin into the make-believe leather shoes & the cardboard coat his pregnant mother must wear on the way to welfare & the salvation army cot broke down in mid mornin mango dreams & the rats attack the cornflakes & powdered cheese we had been savin for the new last supper that is supposed to take place as soon as the messiah is paroled cause god jumped bail after pleading guilty
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to double parkin in front of the side of a roofless synagogue where he went to pay the rent of his duplex church & mortgage his brand-new lincoln continental to buy a spot at the city morgue over populated by 14-yr-old junkies lookin wavin their cold toe tags of john & judy doe wired to their souls its attention-seekin behavior we are scolded at the learning plantation the latrine of miseducation these are hypochondria acts that exhibit real sympathy sometimes somber bluemoon sober guidance counselors that receive guildens & counselorin from the pope in washington, d.c. if he throws large currency in the passover bread basket he still sellin nothin old but voodoo doll filled with hypo hepatitis pin on windy cloudy streets broken face dolls swim in muddy bloody streets where scared scarred eyeballs stare into despair & disappear into foul-smellin doorways of lockless mailboxes when the red-flashing siren screamin light shines near their poison market place of business it is a business wall streettrained consciousness running feet hit the concrete tar-flowered takes a chance cause he not on OTB bleedin legally the green-earned blood both vampires flex their developed muscles of slow negative death a deadmans hand two bags of dope two expired lottery tkts & one unread poem
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OTHER PREVIOUSLY UNPUBLISHED POEMS

The Lower East Side Is Taking . . .

Sometimes I drift away in dreams of yesterday. But, men like me are never free. With all my tomorrows in yesterday sorrow . . . The Lower East Side is taking my life away . . . I fight to leave, I fight to stay. Lower East Side taking my life away. Not one damn block belongs to me, not one damn brick!

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And then Come Freedom to Dream

And then come one by one rung by rung left by right slow by slow claiming each, word by word, the ladder called america Me? going to Well, I was trying to see if in me there was something that thing, all men see but fear to possess it that one thing that made the code, we struggle die for it die being it . . . and . . . then come the bravest . . . and then still inside . . . come . . . the one by one die . . . that others may dream of reaching the top of the ladder and theyre close to heaven its then the best thing for the pursuit of happiness for women & men and eternal roots . . . a symbol of life entwined in Liberty with a bathing of the spirit drenched in the Earth Sun Rain Moon whipped winds
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sounds of Earths lowest creatures Soil and Land . . . Disney in the cradle of rock & roll Burger King and McDonalds New Jersey New York so nice they named it twice of Menudo Michael Jackson and Miami Vice of being a citizen of the greatest nation since the recorded history of Man No words sound pure like the Love in the smile of an innocent child . . . Without reservation Without hesitation Yes . . . I am . . . 100% AMERICAN Yes, Mister!! Citizen of the United States of America!!

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Antarctica

Im drifting back into the Antarctic position attitude and lifestylesteal with my lies hurt to come by bucks not to nourish my body satisfy sexual fucks. . . . Each penny accumulated to feed my veins . . . distort the rhythm in my living . . . and I die to steal with each passing misrepresents the concern from peoples hearts that are real . . . and nothing equals the law I feel . . . yet . . . I beg god to give me another day for which to deal.

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The Answer

And she is the answer to all the questions gardening in my futures . . . that held up a tradition of women who are the questions & numbers total survivalbarefoot & pregnant in a kitchen and whistling singing all that could have been . . . but all that is is, all that could beand all will begiving up a note to its final glory.

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To-get-her

We gather together, to get her back together, together we gather to get her we gather to get her we gather, to her we, together gather to get her together her get together . . . get her to gather her together. To gather her gather together out of this rut together . . .

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Where Do the Colors . . .

Where do the colors a steady flame flickering within a candle jar disappear to . . . Where do the dirty rain-masked colors of slush and mud fade to . . . Where do the purple curtains colored pain of love lost the blue conversation of love lost fall and merge into . . . Where do rainbow hues that surround the lavender excitement discovered in dark balcony moviehouse late show exploration and the silverscreen dreamy future of two . . . does a rainbow to . . . Where did fantasies . . . secrets like the smile of the Sphinx hide . . . thousands of these questions that men & women ask over the centuries like a T.V. quiz show. I do get a consolation prize . . . So foreign is the world I discovered years ago in a time when I felt divorced from all the colors that were me.

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The High Dont Equal the Low

The high dont equal the low, and as each passing minute brings too much pain with it cuz barely bears the burden . . . Yeah! Both body & mind pay more attention to the pricetag once never bothered itemizing before . . . Dont even try to fuck anymore . . . The high dont equal the low . . . Where once it was civil, where once it was social anti-conformity . . . Where once it was by-product from culturally deprived, emotionally arrested self Me, seventeen, and all the therapeutic verbs, nouns, adjectives that sent psychologists, sociologists and every-ologist and their grandmother scrambling thru Freudian terminology dictionaries where once it was chic to turn the pitiable poor personality disordered junkie . . . Where once it was prisons termed corrective facilities convict-inmate . . . Every form of shelter has a price. And the high dont equal the low . . .
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Junky became an illegal controlled substance abuser . . . is where the existence of Mankind finds its extinction and medical science no longer seeks cures or prevention, just minor detention and numbs the chemical concoction of euphoric day . . . And the price is a 6 x 6 eternal holiday where once it was life in the fastlane . . . was reduce speed detour just ahead. . . cuz the high dont equal the low. Thats the way the story goes . . . And it shows, yes, it really shows. And the high dont equal the low.

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Rerun of The Ballad of the Freaks

There was a cold winter night on the Lower East Side . . . The stars smiled like Vincent Price, the wind hitting abandoned cars, the last neon bar sign flickered with the T.V. sit-com Addams Family . . . the kind of ghoulish sound Edgar Allan Poe told terror-horror tales youd expect Lon Chaneys Wolfman wail . . . but, Boris Karloff, Christopher Lee and Peter Lorre listening to my story . . . The night Fast-Fucking Fanny whispered to Baldhead-Pipe-Cleaning Annie, Lets give a party that could last for weeks, Even Michael Jacksons Thriller be Mother Goose on Sesame Street . . . That there night began the Ball of the Freaks. They set fancy trimming . . . belly-rose dancing women . . . every bastard on Third Avenue . . . junkies & crackheads & drag queens & vics and johns & tricks, everyone and anyone who wanted to give or get dicked . . . maggots & faggots . . . two-bit hoods & mafia dons from near & far . . . whiskey . . . watered-down & moonshine & Thunderbird to French-imported wine . . . from every exotic foreign countrys bars . . . They came by bikes, planes & trains . . . roller skates, pogo sticks . . . Rolls Royces to the family car. Heads of churches & states . . . financial wizards & racketeers . . . narcotics barons & the Russian empress secured her place by donating the czars balls in a jar. Monsters & creatures . . . sinners & preachers . . . the bouncer was a bulldyke named Clyde . . . The Jeanne was giving head
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to Bozo the Clown . . . the rhythm rap of Run-DMC was heard thru the town . . . it spread like wildfire . . . Bozo was dead . . . Never fear, yelled someone, Jeanne so good shell make that dead man come. She was so good, Jesus was coming down from the cross . . . The funk was so thick it would have made Count Dracula sick. Good thing he did show cuz back in the kitchen The Thing and Wolfman were bitching all his fine zombie hoe . . . cousin It, The Fly and Igor were a trio all night bugging, psyching the Mummy for being a drag who refused to lick the blood off tampons from the AIDS Ward. He was the only wallflower. The party was hardy, rock steady, steady rocking all night long. The party never lulled to a panic, everyone was getting down. Beer, wine and come was roaring like the East River hitting the edge of the great Atlantic. Every toad, frog, cockroach and lice claimed to be Prince Charming as they all took turns busting out Sleeping Beauty . . . All that glitters isnt gold, no surprise to know, Snow White was no virgin. She took a knock-out speedball tardy and pretended to be drunk, offered to take on the whole lot. Everyone declined on the spot. Paul Bunyan, John Henry and Goliath had fucked, now walked to frail egos . . . Hercules said no thank you please on a bet with Zeus. Cried Atlas,
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Ill satisfy that girl! Now we know why he holds up the world. All the superheroes from Tarzan to Spiderman have tried and lost. It was reported she took on the headless man and his horse . . . never one to boast but the fantastic voyage was done in her cunt . . . And the Wandering Jew began his route . . . The Invisible Man ran afoul of the law . . . Judge Crater was finding Jimmy Hoffa Where the Lost Tribe of Israel . . . called her pussy home . . . and E. T. was still dialing a collect call from a payphone . . . seven dwarfs never grown . . . the mirror genie lesbian bitch the witch from the Lower East just made her moan . . . It was easier than Peewee Herman pulling the sword from the stone than to turn Snow White on. The second night there was nearly a riot when Robin Hood and his merry men arrived . . . the joke here were more good crooks . . . It was on that day that living in the forest he and his merry men were more than just happy and far from straight. They all pointed to his polished nails . . . he happened to be gay . . . Little Johns wood stood and said with a coy Theres no better joy than one of the sheriff s big butt boys. Friar Tuck laughed so hard he busted his girdle. Everyone was having a hell of a time, then about a quarter to nine walked in Frankenstein, yelled, Its colder than a well chiggers ass outside. I wanna know why I wasnt invited . . .
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Then screamed his bride who after being dead and brought back to life took one look at him and died again of fright cuz, Youre shitty, stinking, ragged and a slime . . . Not everyone is a perfect one-eyed jack, and mutual agreement from all the sci-fi class, Elephant Man said with a snide, And if you keep this high and snobby attitude, youre going to pay the price of watching Brady Bunch reruns, Ralph to the moon. But Ill take sloppy seconds, said the Creature from the Black Lagoon.

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PLAYS

Paper Toilet
Paper Toilet is a one-act play that takes place in a subway restroom. The rumble of trains is heard. The people in the play: MAN 1 (middle-aged) MAN 2 (early twenties) MAN 3 (middle-aged vice cop) MAN 4 (late twenties) BOY 1 (15 years old) BOY 2 (14 years old) WOMAN (middle-aged) COP 1 (early thirties) COP 2 (early thirties)

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Miguel Piero A man rushes into the toilet. HE is excited, stops in front of the pay toilet stall, searches his pockets . . . mumbles some curses, begins to get more and more jittery with each rumble through a different pocket. Cursing, he finally crawls under the toilet stall door. A loud satisfying grunt is heard. MAN 1: Goddamn it, things are so uptight nowadays, you gotta pay to take a lousy shit. MAN 2: (Entering.) Now to work . . . (Takes a position in front of one of the urinals.) Another man enters and takes a place next to MAN 2. A few seconds later another man comes in and does likewise. MAN 4: (To nobody.) My . . . my . . . the tearoom is crowded early today. MAN 2: Did you say something to me? MAN 4: No, nothing at all . . . I talk to myself when I pee. MAN 2: Good enough. MAN 4: What is good enough, the size or the thickness or the color? MAN 2: What are you talking about? MAN 4: Good enough. MAN 2: What is good enough? MAN 4: Really. MAN 2: Really what? MAN 4: Who knows, perhaps the flavor of it, some people taste like wet rubber . . . dont you agree? MAN 2: I really dont know what youre talking about. MAN 4: You dont? MAN 2: No, I dont . . . and I like my peeing to be private. MAN 4: Then you should do it at home behind the locked door of your bathroom and not in a subway toilet. MAN 3: Well, when you got to go you got to go. MAN 2: Thats the way nature intended it to be like, I believe. MAN 4: So do I. MAN 2: So do you what? MAN 4: Believe it to be like. MAN 2: Yes, well if you dont mind, Id like to cut this conversation short, you see? MAN 4: I see very well. What do you want me to look at?
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Paper Toilet MAN 2: You see, I cant pee and talk at the same time. MAN 4: You dont have the coordination to do so? MAN 2: No, I dont . . . so if you please, get to your own peeing business and leave me to mine. MAN 3: You know, I am the same way, I cant piss if someone is watching me or if I believe someone is watching me or talking to me. I guess it has to do with something from early childhood. MAN 4: You should go see a therapist. MAN 3: They have peeing therapists? MAN 4: They have all kinds of therapists, its big business nowadays to specialize in some kind of therapy. MAN 2: Really? MAN 4: Yes, no kidding around. I once heard of a therapist who specialized in nose picking. MAN 2: Jesus H. Fucking Christ, will you shut up and let me pee?!! MAN 4: I didnt know I was holding you back. Silence. Pause. MAN 4 takes a look at MAN 3s penis. MAN 3 catches him. MAN 4 smiles and looks at the ceiling. MAN 4 takes another long look at MAN 3s penis again. This time he turns his head away before being detected. Once more he takes another look at MAN 3s penis. MAN 2 catches him. MAN 2: Hey, whacha gonna do, suck out his dick with your eyes? MAN 4: Who, me? MAN 2: Yeah, you, who else is here standing gawking at his dick? Im talking to you, mister . . . dont act funny with me. I know your type. You come into these places waiting for school boys to come in, and stare at them . . . you aint gonna deny it, are you? Well, where are you going? Go on, run. Go on, run, fairy . . . all alike . . . sick . . . freaking faggots . . . they come into these places to play hide-and-seek with other peoples cocks . . . gotta watch them. MAN 3: The cocks? MAN 2: No, them freaks. You know what I mean. MAN 3: No, I dont know. MAN 2: Take it from me, I know. I been coming to these places long enough to know what Im talking about. MAN 3: I guess so. MAN 2: Well, I know so.
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Miguel Piero MAN 3: I guess you do. MAN 2: What you reading, the sports? Who won last nights game between? MAN 3: I am not reading anything at all . . . Im trying to take a piss in peace . . . if you want to read the paper while you pee, here, read it. MAN 2: Shove it. MAN 1: I would like to read it. MAN 3 begins to exit. MAN 2 simulates masturbation. MAN 3 enters again. MAN 3: Well . . . well . . . my . . . my . . . you have a big one for a white man. Can I clean it for you . . . here I have some kleenex tissues. Theyre supposed to be good for everything. . . even life juice. Here, let me help you up. . . ah, dont be shy. . . dont be embarrassed. Everybody should jerkoff now and then . . . its good for the spirit and not to mention the wrist . . . you know what I mean? MAN 2: No, thanks, I got a handkerchief, thank you. MAN 3: No need to reward me, put your wallet back in your pocket. Just let me hold it for a while, thatll be reward enough for me. MAN 2: Shut up. MAN 3: No need to shout . . . oh, the man in the stall . . . well, dont worry about him, hes probably looking to do the same thing, just like little ole me . . . now aint that something? MAN 2: Shut up and look at this. Does this look like money to you? MAN 3: No, it looks like a badge. MAN 2: Thats just what it is . . . you are under arrest . . . soliciting for the purpose of an unnatural sex act. MAN 3: This has to be an act. MAN 2: No, its very real, my friend. MAN 3: If its for real, I aint no friend of yours (Goes into fit of cursing.) MAN 2: Oh, shut the fuck up already, will you? Aint you ever been locked up before? Every nigger in New York has been in jail, and thats the way God meant it to be. Wow, it stinks in here. Hey, you in there, you in that combat zone, why dont you flush that stink out to the river before it hits the streets and I have to come back and summon you for polluting the air?
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Paper Toilet MAN 3: Ha, ha . . . very funny, youre a real comedian ala Bob Hope . . . MAN 2: The air is gonna get so bad Im gonna have to call Ralph Nader on you . . . ha . . . ha . . . MAN 3: Jesus Christ! MAN 1: Did you call my name out in vain? MAN 3: Everybodys a comedian on the day I get arrested, shit! MAN 1: Thats what Im doing. MAN 2: Do it in good health. MAN 1: Well, some come to sit and think . . . I came here to shit and stink. MAN 2: You sure accomplished what you set out to do, mister. Okay, come on, lets go, come on, on the double. MAN 3: What, Im back in the army now. MAN 1: Holy shit, no fucking toilet paper! You pay to get in here and they dont have the decency to protect you from the toilet paper thieves . . . shit . . . shit . . . shit . . . the newspaper. . . saved by the daily. A young BOY enters fast-talking with another who is excited. BOY 1: Boy, I bet theres a thousand dollars in that purse. BOY 2: The way she fought for it and screamed and carried on, there must be a whole lot more than that. Man, I bet theres a million. BOY 1: Id settle for twenty dollars. BOY 2: Me too. BOY 1: Lets check the motherfucker out, man. Open up the damn thing. BOY 2: Okay, dont rush . . . man, dont rush, man, be cool . . . be cool. BOY 1: Be cool, are you kidding me? Shit, that bitch just gave us the fight of the century for this shit here and you tell me to be cool. Man, you better be cool and open up that damn thing, brother. BOY 2: I dragged that old bitch down them stairs kicking. BOY 1: She screamed like a fucking police siren. What a mouth. BOY 2: Man, I almost had to stomp that bitchs back string loose before she cut loose of that damn bag. BOY 1: Lets see what we got, brotherman. BOY 2: Kicked her head in. BOY 1: The regular junk. BOY 2: Wrestled all over the platform, almost fell into the tracks.
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Miguel Piero BOY 1: Welfare card. BOY 2: Should have let her fall . . . let the train deal with her. BOY 1: Nothing in the little wallet . BOY 2: Boy, lucky for us that the fucking strap broke or wed still be struggling with that old big black mother jumbo. BOY 1: My father always says, son, with peoples wives . . . brothers . . . sisters . . . fuck over their whole generation . . . but dont fuck with their money. BOY 2: My mom says, dont fuck with a winos bottle or a junkies cooker. BOY 1: My father always says, son, take this advice, its the only one that I can give freely, with confidence and experience. Then he shows me a pack of scars all over his body . . . cuz if you take this advice, boy, about not flicking with other peoples money, especially when they need it badder than you, you best be cool, and youll live to see my age. Then he takes a toke and passes out and that bottle be as empty as his advice. BOY 2: Later for your pop, man. I cant seem to find any bread in this purse, man. BOY 1: The hag has to have something in the bag. Like nobody fights like that for nothing, man. BOY 2: Nothing, man, not a fucking thing . . . shitfuckbitchfaggotmotherfuck! BOY 1: Man, the way that bitch fought for the fucking purse, I thought we had hit Rockerfellas grandmother, man. BOY 2: Its your fault. BOY 1: My fault? BOY 2: 59 cents . . . 59 cents. Aint this a kick in the motherfucking ass? BOY 1: My fault, what you talking, nigger? You crazy shit, how the fuck can this be my fault, motherfucker? BOY 2: You said that she was a bet, man. You said she a bet. BOY 1: Man, the way she were holding on to that damn thing, man, what else am I to think? Shit, man, be cool . . . man, she had to have something in there. BOY 2: Maybe in the lining of the purse. BOY 1: Yeah, rip it open, brother. BOY 2: Motherrrrfffuuuckkkerrrrr!
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Paper Toilet BOY 1: Damn, no way, man, she had to have something there . . . the bitch held on to it too tight, man, to be nothing. . . maybe a welfare check. BOY 2: There aint nothing in there. What if we had gotten busted for that, man? Thats getting busted for nothing. BOY 1: Man, I didnt force you to go with me . . . I aint got no gun. BOY 2: Man, this is the last time I ever listen to you on anything again . . . the motherfucking last time, brother. BOY 1: Man, fuck you. BOY 2: Fuck you too, shit . . . you aint nothing, man. BOY 1: Man, fuck you, and if you dont like it, jump, faggot. BOY 2: Motherfucker, put your hands down before I put your jaw down. BOY 1: Man, throw what you got, punk, and throw your best shit, cause you aint saying a pound, punk. BOY 2: Man, what you gonna do, you gonna fight me with your hands or with your mouth? BOY 1: If you move your hands, Im gonna move your teeth. BOY 2: You got more shit with you than this fucking toilet. MAN 1: Boys . . . BOY 1: Who the fuck you calling boy? BOY 2: Man, you better dig yourself, faggot. MAN 1: I dont mean it in any manner thats derogatory, gentlemen. BOY 1: What the hell you talking about, nigger? BOY 2: Speak up when a man talks to you, sucker. MAN 1: Excuse me, please, I meant no harm. I apologize, I really mean it. Believe me, I meant no harm whatsoever. . . I was only trying to capture your attention. BOY 1: What you say? BOY 2: Say he wanna rap. MAN 1: I couldnt help overhearing about your little, lets say, financial adventure and about the frustrating results. Id like to engage you in a little business. BOY 1: Man, what the fuck you talking about, sucker? BOY 2: He say he peeped into our comb, man. BOY 1: Man, you better learn to mind your own business, you could get all hurt up doing shit like that. MAN 1: I didnt mean to pry, just that your failure . . .
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Miguel Piero BOY 2: Man, my father is a failure, but not me, motherfucker. I aint no failure. BOY 1: Not yet, anyway. MAN 1: I have a proposition to make. BOY 1: He got a what to make? BOY 2: I think the dude wanna play the skin flute, man. BOY 1: Say, man, are you a faggot or something? MAN 1: I might be a motherfucker, but Im not a faggot, young man. BOY 1: What the deal, man? BOY 2: We aint icing nobody for nobody. MAN 1: What was that? BOY 1: What the deal? MAN 1: Oh, the deal, yes, the deal, the deal is nothing that will get any of you in any kind of trouble. What I would like is . . . I would like to obtain that newspaper that I left on the floor over there. I . . . I . . . was reading an important article. BOY 1: Cut the shit, you want the paper, huh? Why dont you come out and get it yourself? MAN 1: Obviously, because . . . BOY 1: Man, you aint got no shit paper and you wanna cop the news to do the job, right? BOY 2: But we aint upping the motherfucker unless you is upping something for it. MAN 1: I was planning to offer a reward. BOY 1: Like what, motherfucker? BOY 2: Better be good. MAN 1: Well, it is my newspaper. I left it behind. BOY 2: Now you wanna use it for the behind. MAN 1: I said that I would buy it from you at a very reasonable price. BOY 1: Like what? MAN 1: One dollar. BOY 1: One dollar, are you serious, man? BOY 2: Naw, man he just joking, aint you mister? MAN 1: Apiece . . . one dollar apiece. BOY 1: That hold my interest a little bit. BOY 2: Cuz you know the old saying, Finders keepers, losers weepers? BOY 1: That old saying and, besides, we were planning to read the paper, anyway.
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Paper Toilet BOY 2: Thats right, so like we couldnt cut it loose for nothing. MAN 1: I understand and I apologize for making such a meager offer for such a valuable piece of merchandise. It was unthinkable. BOY 1: So, why you say it then? MAN 1: So, in that light, I will offer each of you two dollars . . . consider it a reward. BOY 1: (Whispers.) I think that dude has some bucks. BOY 2: (Whispers.) I do too. BOY 1: Two dollars for a newspaper, that unreal . . . MAN 1: Well, do we have a deal? BOY 1: Hey, man, you got any more money on you? BOY 2: Well, man, answer up, mister. MAN 1: I dont have any real money on me. BOY 1: What you got, counterfeit, motherfucker? They grab the mans pants and begin a tug of war with them. They are cursing and threatening to end up with his pants. BOY 1: And, motherfucker, you better stay in that fucking toilet. BOY 2: Goddamn, we hit the number, fifty motherfucking dollars, bro. MAN 1: Please, let me have my pants back. BOY 1: Boy, you beg a lot, dont you, motherfucker? BOY 2: He sure do, you a begging fool. MAN 1: Please, keep the money . . . just give me back my pants. BOY I: You want the newspaper too? MAN 1: Yes. BOY 2: Then, be cool. A big, rugged looking WOMAN enters. WOMAN: I thought Id find you creeps in one of these places counting my money. BOY 1: Counting your what, bitch? BOY 2: Money? What motherfucking money you talking about, 59 cents? Is that what you call money? WOMAN: Wheres my money? BOY 1: Here . . . here, lady, heres your freaking bag. Now get the fuck out of here before we rip you off again. BOY 2: Rip her off again, for what? The bitch aint got shit.
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Miguel Piero WOMAN: Rape . . . me . . . rape me, really? MAN 1: Lady, would you ask them to give me my pants? BOY 1: Shut up in there, faggot. BOY 2: You heard the man, dont make us repeat ourselves, motherfucker. BOY 1: Get that clear, now, mister. We aint playing no games. WOMAN: And neither am I. Now I want my money. BOY 1: Lady, there aint no money to give you, cuz you had no money to take in the first place. WOMAN: First you take my money. Now you tell me that there wasnt none. Then you say you gonna rape me off again. BOY 1: Rape, who said anything about rape? Shit, you must be crazy, bitch. To think anyone would wanna fuck you. Shit, bitch, you look so bad, I wouldnt fuck you with his dick. Shit, lady, you so old, Id end up with lockjaw on my wood. BOY 2: Purple balls . . . imagine her on the bed naked. Yous a sorry sight, lady. Shit, you spoil a wet dream. BOY 1: And you stink bad, too. WOMAN: If you dont give me my money Ill scream and tell the cops that you armed robbery me and tried to rape me, too. MAN 1: Ill be your witness, lady. WOMAN: Man, shut the fuck up and flush that damn thing out of here. BOY 1: Man, if you dont shut up, youll be reading about yourself in the motherfucking newspaper you wanted so bad. BOY 2: Man drowns in subway toilet bowel. WOMAN: Now give me my money, fellas, cuz once I start hollering, even God gonna come down and check it out too. BOY 1: Tell him Satan is waiting for him. BOY 2: And he ready to deal. WOMAN: Fuck God, deal with me, you little bunch of faggots. BOY 1: And, lady, you can scream rape all the fuck you want, cuz no one in their right mind, cop or judge, would ever believe we try to rape something as ugly as you, not even if you swear to that on a stack of bibles ten feet high. SHE sails into them screaming, fist flying, cursing. They slap her upside the head with the newspaper. SHE throws one on the floor. COP 1: Okay, hold it . . . what the hell is going on in here?
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Paper Toilet WOMAN: They armed robbery me and they tried to rape me, officer. COP 1: They tried to do what? BOY 1: You dont believe that?! BOY 2: She try to kill us. COP 1: That I believe. COP 2: What the hell are you doing in the mens toilet, lady? Is this part of the womens liberation movement or something? WOMAN: Its nothing. They robbery me and try to rape me. Help me arrest them. I demand that you arrest them now. COP 1: Be quiet, lady, will you, please? A row of accusations begins between the BOYS and the WOMAN. MAN 1: Would anyone care to give me my pants or the newspaper, please? COP 1: Hey, you in there, shut up or well run you in for obstructing justice . . . you hear me, Mack? . . . And flush that damn thing. MAN 1: But, officer, I need that newspaper. ALL: SHUT UP! More accusations and arguments. COP 2: Hold it, lady, hold it, lady! COP 1: You two guys, shut the fuck up right now. BOY 1: But, officer. COP 1: Not another fucking word, you hear me? BOY 1: Yes, sir. BOY 2: Be cool, bro, be cool. WOMAN: They trying to be cool, so they can escape into the tracks. BOY 1: She crazy. COP 1: What did you say? BOY 1: I didnt say anything, officer. BOY 2: Be cool, man, be cool. COP 1: Listen to your friend, be cool. WOMAN: They beat me and robbed me. COP 1: Lady, please be quiet. Well get to the bottom of this as soon as we get some cooperation. COP 2: Okay, now, what the hell you doing in the mens toilet? WOMAN: I was robbery by them there two boys. They beat me, they try to rape me.
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Miguel Piero COP 2: Lady . . . lady, hold it. Were here to get the facts, not fantasies. Please stick to what really happened. WOMAN: Thats what really happened. They try to rape me. BOY 2: The only thing we raped was your pocketbook. BOY 1: Now, who not being cool! COP 1: So, you snatched her purse, huh? BOY 2: Man, I didnt say that, you did. COP 2: How would you like a size 9 up your ass, kid? COP 1: Lady, if they try to rape you, they dont belong in a prison, but in a mental health institution. WOMAN: They robbed me and beat me up. BOY 1: Thats a lot of shit. You were doing all the beating up. BOY 2: Man, she almost killed us. COP 1: Maybe we arrived too early, huh? COP 2: Maybe we did. COP 1: You think if we step outside for a while, theyll finish each other up? COP 2: I dont know, but I feel that this is going to be one of them nights. COP 1: Any of you got a knife? BOY I: We dont carry weapons of any kind. COP 1: Yeah, I bet both of you sing in the choir on Sundays. BOY 2: As a matter of fact, we do. COP 1: Jesus. BOY 1: He saves. COP 1: Oh, shut up, will ya? COP 2: Kid, were trying to be nice guys. Why not just take our word for it that if you keep opening your trap, were not going to be nice guys and youre gonna start screaming police brutality. So keep your fucking mouth shut. BOY 1: Yes, sir. COP 1: Do you understand? BOY 1: Yes, sir. BOY 2: Yes, sir. COP 1: Good, now back to you, miss. Why are you in the mens toilet? WOMAN: Because this is where they ran to escape from me. MAN 1: Can I say something? COP 1: Later . . . right now, keep pushing and keep your mouth shut.
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Paper Toilet MAN 1: Im going to write my congressman about this. COP 1: Write to the fucking mayor, mister. COP 2: You wanna pen? Here, use the fucking toilet paper. MAN 1: There isnt any toilet paper. Thats what Im trying to tell you. COP 1: Well, I guess thats your tough luck, isnt it? COP 2: Now, keep out of this investigation. WOMAN: Now, what I was saying is that these two birds here. COP 2: Watch your language, lady, please. WOMAN: Youre New York City cops and youre telling me to watch my language?! COP 1: Lady, dont give us a hard time, please. Enter VICE COP. VICE COP: Whats this, whats all this about? COP 1: Who are you? VICE COP: Police Vice Squad. COP 1: Got some identification, sir? VICE: Here, whats that, a play thing? COP 1: Sorry, sir. VICE COP: Now, whats all this about? COP 1: Thats what were trying to figure out. WOMAN: And they aint doing it, telling everybody to shut up all the time, not giving anyone a chance to say anything at all. These two are not what I call cops. COP 1: No, lady? What do you call a cop? WOMAN: A flatfoot. COP 1: Jesus, lady, get with the times. They now call us pigs. COP 2: Pride, integrity, guts. BOY 1: Thats a lot of bullshit. VICE COP: Who are they? COP 1: Were trying to find out whos making a complaint. They for assault. Her, for armed robbery and attempted rape. VICE COP: Rape. Ahahahahah. Youre kidding. COP 1: I wish we were. She insists that they tried it. COP 2: Do you believe it? VICE COP: They must be crazy or awful horny. COP 1: Okay, once again, what did they hit you with? WOMAN: With the newspaper.
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Miguel Piero COP 1: Assault with a dangerous instrument. COP 2: Got it. WOMAN: They also try to strangle me with them pants over there. COP 1: Attempted murder. Take the pants too. COP 2: Got it. COP I: Okay, lady, come on to the precinct and sign a complaint. On second thought, why not just meet us there. BOY 1: Look, man, we snatched the book, but we didnt try no rape, man. COP 1: Dont worry about it. VICE COP: Wait a second, not so fast, theres got to be a law about this somewhere. Theres just got to be. COP 1: Well, sir, it is against the law to steal. COP 2: And assault. VICE COP: Not that, her. COP 1: Theres no law about looking that ugly, sir. COP 2: Come on, lets go. VICE COP: No, she aint going nowhere. COP 1: What are you talking about? VICE COP: Theres got to be a law about this down at Central. COP 1: What is he talking about? COP 2: Why ask? VICE COP: Im talking about her. COP 1: What about her? . . . Shes the complainant. VICE COP: Im talking about, what Im talking about. BOY 1: What you rappin about? VICE COP: None of your business. BOY 2: You heard the man, none of your B.I. business, man. Now, keep tight before you get both of our asses kicked, man! COP 1: Shut up. VICE COP: Dont tell me to shut up. COP 2: He didnt mean you, he meant them. BOY 2: Man, you gonna get us in big trouble with your big mouth, man. VICE COP: He can speak for himself. COP 1: Yeah, I meant them, Jesus! VICE COP: Now, what Im talking about is as simple as this. COP 1: This hasnt been simple, believe me. WOMAN: Talk straight, will you?
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Paper Toilet BOY 1: He speak with fork tongue. WOMAN: They all speak with fork tongue. BOY 2: Man, if they beat up on me, Im gonna brain you, bro. BOY 1: Boy, you aint doing nothing to me. BOY 2: Well see about that. COP 1: You two can fight at the precinct. We got some gloves. BOY 1: That cool with me. BOY 2: Not with me. I aint no prize-fighter, man. BOY 1: No, man, yous a punk who talk much shit. COP 1: Shut up, all of yous, please. Now, sir, what is it with this woman? VICE COP: What Im talking about is simple. COP 2: You already said that. Im still confused. VICE COP: Yes, well, what I mean is . . . what Im trying to say is that, cant you understand that there is something wrong here? I mean, well, that is, that er. . . er . . . er . . . that . . . I think that I mean I feel that there is something wrong here. Dont you see it. I mean its perfectly clear to me. Can you see it? COP 1: To tell the truth, no. VICE COP: Thats why youre a transit cop working the graveyard shift. COP 1: I resent that. VICE COP: Big deal, you resent the truth. COP 1: Im taking them in. VICE COP: No, wait, you cant. Theres something wrong here and it has to be straightened out immediately. . . I mean how can you let her get away with this crime. COP 1: What crime are you talking about? WOMAN: Crime? I didnt commit no crime. What are you talking about, mister? You better make yourself clear before I sue you for false accusation. I didnt commit no crime. The crime was committed on me, mister. Now, get that right in your head. COP 2: Shes right. BOY 1: What about us? BOY 2: What about us? COP 1: If you guys dont shut the fuck up, Im going to smack the living shit out of you. COP 2: Hold it, hold it, not here. WOMAN: Just let me at them. . . .
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Miguel Piero COP 2: Calm down, everybody, calm down. Please, lets get down to the bottom of this. Please explain yourself, officer, and please make it as brief and as clear as you possibly can. Thank you. COP 1: Yes, please. BOY 1: Hey, man, keep that monster cool. BOY 2: Be cool, bro, be cool. Please, I just got a cap on my teeth, bro, and if they knock it out, my old man is gonna kill me. BOY 1: Yeah, okay, bro? VICE COP: Man, if we let her out of here without arresting her, were all gonners for sure . . . dont you see that? COP 1: No. WOMAN: Hes crazy. COP 2: Lady, please . . . WOMAN: Hes crazy, hes insane, out of his motherfucking mind! VICE COP: If we let her get away with this, who knows what will happen next. COP 2: What will happen to what . . . to who . . . what are you talking about? COP 1: Oh, lets not start on that again, please. Lets keep it clear. COP 2: You mean its clear to you? COP 1: No. COP 2: What will happen to what? Lets start there. VICE COP: To our society, man, to our society. What do you think I was trying to tell you all the time? What will happen to our society if we allow this woman to walk out of this mens toilet free without charging her with something . . . something that we can stick on her. Lets think . . . lets put our heads together. COP 1: I wonder if your head is together. COP 2: How long you been on the vice squad? VICE COP: Peeping tomasina . . . thats it, peeping tomasina. There must be a law like that somewhere in the books downtown. COP 1: About a woman in the mans toilet? COP 2: You got to be kidding. COP 1: I dont think he is. COP 2: Youre serious? VICE COP: Of course, Im serious. COP 1: Hes serious. VICE COP: You better believe that Im serious. What will become of society if we allow things like this to go unpunished? What? Tell
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Paper Toilet me what? Men in womens toilets . . . women in mens toilets . . . next thing we know, women will be in mens toilets standing up taking a piss. Can you imagine that, can you? No, but I can. COP 1: I bet you can. VICE COP: You bet I can. I been working this beat long enough to know all the perverted thoughts and actions that take place in peoples minds. I know them all . . . but Im strong, I stick to my guns . . . women standing up taking a piss, men sitting down . . . it can turn your stomach just thinking of it. COP 2: Ill try not to. VICE COP: You take this as a joke, but you are not realizing the seriousness of it. What will become of our children, our beautiful boys and girls? Theyll be in a constant identity crisis. What will become of your daughter if she walks into a toilet and finds a man putting on a sanitary napkin, what? . . . Or your son, if he walks into the john and theres this stupid looking broad with one leg up in the air taking a piss? Think about things like that and youll see the seriousness of it . . . think about it for one minute. COP 1: I did . . . were leaving. VICE COP: Thats only the better part of the signs, for the worst is yet to come. COP 1: I did . . . were leaving. VICE COP: Thats only the better part of the signs, for the worst is yet to come. COP 1: Repeat that. VICE COP: I said that aint all. Theres more to be imagined . . . if we let this . . . this pervert go . . . what about the signs? COP 1: Signs, what signs? VICE COP: The signs on the doors. COP 2: There are also other signs that one should take heed to, if you know what I mean. VICE COP: Yes, I do. COP 2: You do? VICE COP: Of course, I do. I understand everything there is to understand, but do you understand about the signs on the doors? The signs on the doors that indicate whether its a mens room or a ladies room . . . kings and queens . . . caballeros and caballeras . . . those signs on the toilet doors that are the most important thing that has come out of a civilized society, thats what. No . . .
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Miguel Piero no, sir, not me. I am not taking part in this communist conspiracy to rid our society of the men and women signs on the toilet doors. . . . Not me, I am a true spirit of the revolution . . . long live Betsy Ross. MAN 4 enters. VICE COP: Hold it, hold it, right there. MAN 4: (In high feminine voice.) Who me? . . . (In husky voice.) I mean, who me? VICE COP: Yeah, you, come ere. MAN 4: Yeah, what can I do for you? Good evening, officers . . . come on, I aint got all day. VICE COP: Hold it, Im a police officer, too. MAN 4: Is he? VICE COP: Why you ask them . . . dont you believe me . . . dont I look like a cop to you? MAN 4: No. VICE COP: No? COP 1: Thats why youre a detective. COP 2: Detectives are not supposed to look like cops. VICE COP: Yeah, but everybody I know knows when a detective is around. BOY 1: Everybody I know knows too. MAN 4: Look, I wanna take a leak. Is there something wrong about that? VICE COP: Dont be a wise guy . . . wasnt you in here before? Didnt I chase you out of here before? MAN 4: Me . . . hell, no. Why would I be chased out of a mens toilet for? That makes no sense to me. COP 2: Welcome to the club. MAN 4: Now, what can I do for you . . . officer? VICE COP: Nothing, nothing at all . . . its just that you . . . you look so familiar. MAN 4: Aint never seen you before in my life. VICE COP: Yeah, well, you better come back later or go to another toilet. MAN 4: Listen, I paid a quarter to get in here to take a leak. VICE COP: There is police business going on in here . . . so you better turn around right now and leave.
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Paper Toilet MAN 4: Police business in a subway toilet? VICE COP: What makes you think that the law ends at subway toilet doors . . . in a toilet, even in a toilet the long arm of the law does not rest for one minute . . . and in here in this very toilet, mister, there is urgent police matters being taken care of, matters that may affect the future of our great democratic nation. MAN 4: Is he serious? COP 1: I think so. WOMAN: Hes crazy . . . call a cop, will ya? This man is crazy. VICE COP: Shut up, you pervert, expounding communist. MAN 4: Yes, well, good night, officers . . . (In a high feminine voice.) Good night, honey . . . byeee. VICE COP: Its him, that lousy faggot. I knew it was him. I just knew it. I bet hes part of her group. They all are . . . I am putting this woman under arrest . . . come on, lady, lets go. Put out your hands, you degenerate . . . pinko bulldyke. MAN 1: Hello, God bless America, can I have my pants, please? VICE COP: Are you making fun of me, mister? You better watch your step . . . if you wanna stay out of trouble, keep it clean. WOMAN: Get your hands off me, you crazy honky, get them off me. Aint you gonna help?!! VICE COP: She is under arrest. BOY 1: Right on, put her in the same cell with us. COP 1: Shut up, punk. COP 2: What we going to do? VICE COP: She is under arrest. Now, either of you can take the collar. Its a credit. Ill share it with you . . . you can have an assist. COP 1: No, you can have it by yourself. COP 2: Yeah, you can have it. After all, you pointed the violation out to us, didnt you? VICE COP: Yes, but I am willing to give you credit. COP 1: No, thanks. COP 2: Yeah, thanks, but no, thanks . . . Lets go. COP 1: Come on, boys, on the move. COP 1: Take her, shes yours. WOMAN: This nut is arresting me? COP 2: Dont worry about it, lady, you have to go to the station, anyway, dont you? Well, this way you go in his car. COP 1: And under his care.
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Miguel Piero VICE COP: (Singing.) God bless America, land of the free . . . The WOMAN begins to fight and curse him out. COP 1: All right, lets take them downtown. COP 2: Downtown? The station is uptown. COP 1: Yeah, I know, but it sounds more dramatic to say downtown. Okay, the games over lets go downtown, were booking you. COP 2: After him, I can see what you mean. They exit with all the people under arrest and protesting their innocence. Silence. Man 1: Hey, is there anybody out there? Hello, this is a man in trouble . . . is there anybody there? . . . Shit . . . shit . . . shit . . . Silence. MAN 1: Help . . . help . . . helppppppppppppp . . . CURTAIN.

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Cold Beer
The people in the play MIKE (beer-bellied poet) MELE (his spacey girlfriend) COP (shiny, proud, CHIPS-type) MAN (traveling salesman-type) SMILES (suburban, California-tanned teenager) LEGS (suburban, California-tanned teenager)

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Miguel Piero Its hot, Sunday, late afternoon, August in the year 1978. A young-looking, middle-aged, bearded, beer-bellied poet sits on a wicker chair on a porch in the Echo Park district of East Los Angeles. HE is surrounded by a swamp of cigarette butts and Bukowski books, with Tom Waits playing in the background. HE wears a purple hat with broken ace-duce-tray on his head. HE is shirtless, shoeless and wears faded blue jeans. There are pots with dying plants to keep him company, as well as one of those portable take-to-the-beach iceboxes filled with Budweiser beer at a lazy reach from his right hand. At his left is a small table with two unopened packs of Pall Malls and an almost dead bottle of J & B next to an out-of-place modern red telephone. In front of him is a Purina checkboard coffee table with a 1940 black Smith-Corona portable typewriter devouring a blank 8 x 11 white sheet of paper devoted to driving a writer insane. MIKE chain-smokes and chain-drinks his beer. Both are part of his poetic image, for MIKE is a poetwriter and is infected with that rare germ of insanity once the deluxe privileged allotted only to the rich and famous, but America is coming of age and now even poor slobs like MIKE can stake claim to it. With his degree hanging over him like a halo, MIKE takes leaks off the porch into the neighbors driveway and loves to soak their poodle. VOICE: Poopoo . . . oooh, Poopoo, you stink of piss . . . how in heavens name do you always come in at this time smelling like a skid row bum? Oooh, Poopoo. MIKE: (Mimicking.) Ooh, Poopoo . . . Poopoo . . . how the hell can any decent dog-loving person give a name like that to any living thing? Thats simply unnatural cruelty. (Picks up the phone.) Hello . . . ASPCA . . . yeah, my names Mike Poor. . . . Yeah, listen, I wanna report cruelty to an animal . . . Call who? . . . the Humane Society, for the what? . . . Look, these people next door have this dog . . . no, they dont beat him . . . yeah, they feed it, in fact, the mother eats better than me . . . what? Oh, well, they gave the poor miserable slob a name like Poopoo. I mean, aint there something you can do about that? Hello . . . up yours too . . . (Hangs up.) MIKE goes back to his chain-smoking, chain-drinking mode of living. MELE, a female friend of MIKEs comes out to the porch wearing an Indian shirt made in Korea, old jeans cut to the pockets. SHE is shoeless and smoking a fat joint.
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Cold Beer MELE: Whacha doin? MIKE: Looking at this thing here. MELE: Poor thing. MIKE: Poor thing? MELE: It looks so lonely. MIKE: How do you think it makes me feel? MELE: You wanna toke? MIKE: Naw . . . Im trying to create. MELE: You wanna toke? MIKE: Yeah, maybe itll help me bring profound thoughts into the printed word, opening the door to immortality. MELE: Oh, wow . . . that sounds profound. MIKE: Yeah, it does, doesnt it? (HE types.) MELE: I like the way you type. MIKE: How about the way I write? MELE: I like the way you type. MIKE: Thanks. MELE: I mean, you just dont sit straight up with your ass touching the back of the chair like a row of legal secretaries . . . you got movement . . . rhythm . . . you type like a song being sung in one of those Humphrey Bogart movies . . . MIKE: Bogart, huh? MELE: Just your typing . . . MIKE: How about my writing? MELE: You type nice . . . MIKE: Youre a very committed person, arent ya? MELE: I support womens rights . . . gay rights . . . skyhorse and Mohawk . . . legalization of marihuana . . . prostitution . . . MIKE: And my typing . . . MELE: Yeah, your typing is cool . . . MIKE: You make me wanna go back to longhand. MELE: I cant comment on your longhand. MIKE: Forget it . . . (Phone rings and MIKE answers.) Its your dime and my time. Start talking. Oh, hi, Patrick . . . what? Oh, yeah, man Im right on the writing . . . its got movement, rhythm . . . its cool . . . you wanna ask Mele? No, Im on the case like Sam the Spade. . . . Later . . . Pat thinks Im lazy . . . he likes my writing . . . but he thinks Im lazy . . .
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Miguel Piero MELE: How about your typing? MIKE: He thinks it stinks . . . MELE: He got no class. MELE: Thanks. MELE: Im going to the store. Ya want something? MIKE: Yeah, another six pack. MELE: Bye . . . MIKE: At least I got rhythm. . . . MIKE enters the house and we hear him put Latin music on the record player. HE comes back to his restful place. A black and white pulls up. A young L. A. finest steps up to the porch. HE walks as if hes the secondcoming of Gary Cooper in High Noon. COP: Ya live ere? MIKE: I sleep . . . shit, eat here. . . . Living, thats another matter. Life is not just resting your head. Life . . . COP: What are ya, a wisenheimer? MIKE: No, Im a poor . . . COP: Lady next door says you keep pissing on her dog . . . that right? MIKE: She should give the dog another name. COP: What? MIKE: She calls him Poopoo. COP: Poopoo? What kinda name is that? MIKE: French, I think. COP: Those French are weird. MIKE: Ever been to France? COP: When I was in the Army. They sure are one bunch of prejudiced creeps . . . they dont even speak English. I see all the police stories on T.V., all the detective movies, but I wont go see the Pink Panther. Its French. MIKE: I thought Peter Sellers was English. COP: He is? MIKE: Think so . . . ya wanna beer? COP: Thanks, but no thanks, watching my belly. MIKE: Women say waist. COP: Yeah, well . . . I warned ya about pissing on, whacha say his name is? MIKE: Poopoo. COP: Jesus . . . thats cruel.
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Cold Beer MIKE: Yeah, I tried telling that to the ASPCA. They told me to shove it. COP: Creeps . . . lousy creeps . . . Poopoo, Jesus! Listen, stop pissing on Poopoo. MIKE: Ya want a megaphone? COP: Just want her to know Im doing my job. . . . What ya do, mister, for a living, that is? MIKE: Im a poet . . . COP: A communist, huh? . . . Well, if this pissing on Poopoo is some kinda communist plot, you gonna be sorry. . . . Poopoo, huh? MIKE: Yes, poor Poopoo. COP: Jesus, so long . . . Poopoo . . . cruel . . . MIKE returns to his creative state of mind. A young Robert de Nirotype comes to him. MAN: Hi . . . MIKE: Hi. MAN: You know who lives there? MIKE: You from the police? MAN: No. MIKE: Internal Revenue? MAN: No . . . nor from the FBI or CIA or Watergate . . . Im looking for a friend of mine? MIKE: Poopoo? MAN: What? MIKE: Poopoo lives next door. MAN: Sounds French. MIKE: I piss on him a lot. MAN: The French like that kinda thing. Im looking for an Italian guy. MIKE: Youre from the Mafia. MAN: Names Guy Santini. MIKE: Poopoo lives there and that place is vacant . . . state wont rent it out. MAN: Nice place . . . too bad . . . MIKE: Yeah, I like to take craps in there at night. I like to take craps in haunted houses . . . sometimes I jack off in there . . . MAN: You piss on Poopoo, huh? MIKE: Yep . . .
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Miguel Piero MAN: He should go down Santa Monica Boulevard. MIKE: They take him to Griffith Park. MAN: Thats a nice place. . . . Oh, by the way, can you use a good blowjob? MIKE: Everyone can use a good blowjob. MAN: Im a pro . . . not like the suckers. Some people say I got a tambourine tongue. MIKE: No kidding? MAN: Yeah, I developed this technique with my tongue . . . Im the greatest. MIKE: I type with rhythms. MAN: I got these movements. MIKE: I type with movement . . . MAN: I dig beer-belly truck drivers. Are you a truck driver? MIKE: No, Im a beer-belly poet. MAN: Any good? MIKE: I type good . . . MAN: So, would you like a dynamite blowjob? MIKE: You sound like a used car salesman, except you aint got Foster Grant wraparounds. MAN: I left them in the car. I work for Worthing Ford . . . I can even give a blowjob standing on my head. MIKE: Got to try it sometime . . . MAN: You sure you dont want a terrific blowjob? MIKE: You wanna beer? MAN: No, watching my waist . . . MIKE: Sorry . . . Im creating. MAN: Well, its your loss. MIKE: Cant win them all. MAN: Bye, now . . . I just love that beer belly. You sure you aint a truck driver? MIKE: No . . . sorry . . . bye. MAN: Oh, well, if you dont advertise, you dont sell. MIKE: Hello, America . . . No sooner is the Robert de Niro-type gone than MIKE hears two young voices. Two bronze, tan blonde-haired kids in their early teens call to him. Its only up close that MIKE defines them to be boys. They wear
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Cold Beer sandals and cut off jeans. One smiles a lot . . . the other keeps smoothing imaginary dust or lotion on his beauty-contest-winning legs. SMILES: Hey, mister . . . hey, man, you know the guy that lives down there? LEGS: See him, the one with the blue-towel bathrobe on? MIKE: Yeah . . . nice old man, used to be a good gardener, I think. SMILES: Can I have a beer? LEGS: Can I have a smoke? MIKE: Help yourselves. SMILES: Hey, man, that man is weird. LEGS: Yeah, man, out of it. SMILES: He went out to lunch and never came back. MIKE: You got nice legs. SMILES: Thats what he said. LEGS: Yeah? MIKE: Aint no crime in using the same line. LEGS: I do, dont I? Do a lot of running and knee bends, ride the bicycle a lot, too. SMILES: What do you do? MIKE: Im a poet. SMILES: Oh, sweet Jesus, another fairy. MIKE: Can you fight? SMILES: What? MIKE: Can you fight good enough to whip my ass? SMILES: No . . . youre older. MIKE: Poet . . . SMILES: What? LEGS: Hes saying if you cant fight, you better call him poet. MIKE: Son, I stand five-foot-six, weigh l55 pounds, got ten inches of dick, four pounds of balls. You best care who you call fairy. SMILES: I like that . . . can you say it again? MIKE: Hes got nice legs. SMILES: Thats what the old man said. LEGS: Yeah, I was riding me and him, picking up empty soda bottles to get the deposit . . . making some bread. SMILES: Yeah, and this old man down there calls us, starts talking to us, then asks what were doing. LEGS: . . . All the time eyeing my legs . . . made me feel weird.
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Miguel Piero SMILES: Looking directly at my lips. MIKE: He liked your smile. LEGS: Then he says, you wanna make some quick cash . . . so we say, sure, what we got to do? He says, help me clean the car garage. We say, yeah, man, sure. SMILES: We start to go into the place, he puts his hands on me. LEGS: Yeah, then he comes to me and swipes my legs, like if they was made of china. MIKE: You got nice legs. SMILES: Can I have another beer? MIKE: No, you got to watch your belly. SMILES: Ill pay for it. MIKE: In that case, help yourselves. LEGS: Anyway, we go in, he follows us in, we move a couple things around. SMILES: I saw him first. LEGS: He was naked . . . SMILES: Naked . . . pure naked . . . MIKE: Most of us are born that way. LEGS: Yeah, man, naked and he was jacking off, right there in front of us . . . SMILES: . . . And it wasnt even hard. MIKE: You noticed, huh? SMILES: Whats that got to do with anything? MIKE: Nothing. LEGS: Anyway, I got scared. SMILES: Not me, Id killed him if he came near me . . . MIKE: Did he? LEGS: No, he just stood by the corner looking at my legs, jerking off, man, that was weird. SMILES: Then his wife came in and started screaming at him and yelling that she was going to tell his son. . . . Oh, man, we ran out of there. LEGS: Hey, there he is . . . theyre putting him in that car. Look, hes still jacking off . . . wow, crazy . . . wow. MIKE: How does his wife look? LEGS: Ugly.
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Cold Beer SMILES: No teeth. MIKE: You got nice legs. SMILES: I got great teeth, helps my smile. MIKE: Yeah, you do . . . get any money? LEGS: Naw . . . man . . . nothing, he gypped us. MIKE: Bad investment. SMILES: Yeah, a bum trip. . . . You want anything worked on around here? Your plants are all dying. LEGS: Telephones ringing. MIKE: Never answer the phone when Im creating. SMILES: How about it, mister? MIKE: No, thanks, I jacked off this morning. LEGS: Lets go. SMILES: Bye . . . LEGS: This guy is just as weird as the man down there. SMILES: I think hes cool . . . MIKE: I type cool . . . bye . . . SMILES: Can I get another beer? MIKE: No. SMILES AND LEGS: Bye . . . MELE drives up . . . pours the beer in the box. MELE: What they want? MIKE: Attention. (Phone rings again.) Oh, hi, Patrick . . . yeah, man, I got it down . . . its got movement . . . rhythm . . . the typing is cool, its got legs . . . and smiles and cops and pissing on Poopoo . . . gives you a tambourine job. . . . Heavy, Ill bring it in about three. By the way, Pat, you think you can give me cash? . . . I aint got a bank account to cash a check. . . . No, man, I aint got no identity . . . lost my wallet . . . Yep, thanks, man . . . MELE: So, whats been happening? MIKE: Oh, nothing . . . hey, you heard theyre thinking of dropping neutron bombs on the South Bronx? MELE: Wow! MIKE: Hey, check it out . . . you see, the government drops the neutron bombs on the South Bronx as a solution to the people problem there . . . then they give out these CETA jobs to the kids from Harlem to clean up the bodies . . . and some guys put out a
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Miguel Piero grant application to NEA to study the creative process of neutron dying . . . and then . . . MELE: I like your typing. MIKE: Theres this old man who jerks off a lot . . . Typing can be heard all over the Echo Park district of East Los Angeles that night . . . with Tom Waits in the background: Warm beer and cold women / I just dont fit in, etc.

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The Guntower
The people in the play: GERMN ROSADO SIMMON JOHNSON

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Miguel Piero The play takes place in the guntower of one of Americas prisons. Its the morning shift. SIMMON JOHNSON is pacing the tower, bored to death. Every ten minutes or so he turns the handle on a box on the wall. HE does this automatically. There is a faint sound of guitar and harmonica music being played, but not together to make a tune. Theres the sound of basketballs hitting the concrete and people talking, a lot of people. SIMMON: Hey . . . hey . . . yeah, you, stupid . . . you jive-ass nigger, why ya let that sap steal the ball from under ya? . . . Ya . . . ya . . . dont open your mouth to run no excuses now. Shit, my baby sister can play better. Yeah, shes only three. No wonder you in the joint. VOICE: Ahhh, go on Mr. Johnson, ya rap all that fly shit up there on the rodhouse, but on the ground yous a chump. SIMMON: Your moms a chump . . . and dont forget that you are talking to a correctional officer of this here state, boy . . . just cause you saw my shoes under ya mamas bed, dont mean that we are related, boy. VOICE: Pick up on this, Correctional Officer, Simmon Johnson, sir. SIMMON: Shit, I can see why you play like a sissy. Ya mami was ya daddy and you know what you can do with that thing, if its long enough . . . in fact, Im getting off here to head toward the messhall before you get there. VOICE: What about the messhall? Speak up, son, I cant hear ya. SIMMON: I said that theyre serving franks today and I want to have yours cut before you take them back to the cell. Shit, you wanna play the dozens with me, boy? I played the dozens before you could talk. Shit, if I ever told ya how to play, shit, it may just blow away that split pea of a brain. VOICE: If I told ya who I wanna play with, ya might just get mad enough to shoot me, brotherrr. SIMMON: Aint nothing that serious, brotherrr. VOICE: Ya all right, then . . . later. SIMMON: Ya okay . . . later . . . take it easy . . . you too, brotherman. Hey, git off his ass . . . didnt know ya went that way, brother. . . . (Goes back to pacing the tower.) I wish these motherfuckers would stop looking at me like if I were some freak or something . . . motherfuckers, close your fucking eyes . . . if I pick my nose
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The Guntower and wipe the snots on my clothes, you laugh at me. If I scratch my ass, you yell that thats digging for oil. I bet that you would like to get my lollipop and squeeze it hard on your tongue, wouldnt you? But, dig on this, suckers. Put your head on an acid mood so you can listen to the silence thats within ya loud assholes. If you had done that, you might not have been here today . . . assholes . . . assholes. VOICE: ASSHOLES, thats what you are in there, assholes . . . so get that straight. I am a big prick and you are a bunch of assholes . . . and I would like to fuck every asshole in here. Do you understand, assholes? So, if you dont wanna be fucked by a big prick like me, assholes, you better get every thing done on the double. Is that right, assholes? Louder, assholes. I cant hear you, assholes. Remember that good, you fucking assholes. This is not boot camp. This is the real thing out here and out here if you play pussy, you get fucked by a mean prick and theres plenty of mean pricks out there in them bushes looking for assholes to fuck. You hear me? Now I asked for some real men and they send me you assholes and you assholes are going to have to learn to be pricks, unless you wanna get fucked. Fight or fuck, thats the motto of this squad. Do you read me? Well, answer up loud enough that they can hear you in the North. I dont want them to know that a lot of assholes are going to be fighting them. I want them to fear the pricks that I throw out that way, right? Right now lets see what you assholes know about your women. Asshole, your woman is your rifle, stupid . . . its not a laughing matter out in that bush. You read me, assholes? Okay, assholes, get ready to move out into the way of the almighty prick. Move, assholes, on the fucking double, on the fucking double, you chicken-livered shitheads. Get that lead out of your fucking ass, assholes. Move on the fucking double . . . dont think, act . . . dont think, do as you are told . . . you stupid assholes, you have no time to think out here . . . you either act or you die. Dont think, assholes, dont think, you fucking assholes . . . theres a prick coming your way, assholes, get out of the way or get fucked . . . its hot out here, motherfuckers, and I dont wanna be bothered by your asshole mistakes. You understand, assholes? SIMMON: Yeah, man, it sure was hot out there in the bush. It was hot in more ways than one, what with this fucking Louey out of the
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Miguel Piero school running all this asshole bullshit on us, like it was the first time I ever been out in the bush. So what if it was the first time out there for me and the rest of the fellas? We were going to waste him in the first fire fight we got into. He was going and that was for sure. It was hot and all those bugs and people on you all the time, not knowing when or how the end will come for you, that thats the way it is, thats the real way it is, the bush slapping you in the face all the time, the sun beating on the top of your helmet all the time, the death traps entering in your fears all the time, and you never get a fucking break from any of them. The motherfuckers are going to get wasted the first time I get one in my sights. Man, shit, its hot out here. Never knew any place on earth could be blood brother to the sun, man. The earth and the sun must be related somehow . . . else why would it be so fucking hot out here, man? There is the clearing. We are going into the village . . . theres only old men and women around, some little kids peeing, some taking shits . . . cows . . . birds and shit. Theres nothing out there. Theres nothing here. No. Gonzalez, dont fuck with that fireplace . . . oh, shit, dont move, Gonzalez . . . medic, Gonzalez hit a trap, he hit a trap. Chin Chow is hit. Theres a sniper around down on the fucking floor, a sniper . . . where . . . where . . . there . . . in the hut, in the fucking hut, theres a sniper in the fucking hut. Set up the light machine gun . . . mortar . . . mortar . . . set up that fucking light machine gun on the fucking double, you stupid motherfucker. You got us in this motherfucking mess. Move, incoming mail . . . down . . . down . . . get your fucking head down, Lunbrosky. . . oh, shit, his head is gone . . . down, watch the sniper . . . you fucking grade-A asshole, you a big prick. Youre the fucking asshole . . . frag the Louey now . . . get him, get this fucking prick out of the way, assholes, are we . . . you fucking goldbrick nigger, spray that fucking hut, spray that fucking hut. The sniper is in the fucking hut. Down, mother, mortar . . . spray the fucking hut . . . the hut, the hut, you idiot, the fucking hut. Spray that fucking hut . . . cover me . . . cover me, plenty of fire. I want plenty of fire. Spray the fucking cover. I wanna get in a grenade, motherfuckers. Give me plenty of fire cover . . . hold it . . . grenade . . . boom . . . ah . . . ah . . . now, motherfucker, come out . . . she came out of there running, holding the body of a headless baby . . . hit her, hit her, waste that old fucking bitch
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The Guntower . . . theres a bomb in the baby, theres got to be a bomb in the baby . . . oh, my god . . . so I picked up my gun and I . . . I . . . I . . . did what I had to do . . . I hit the gook . . . you fucking nogood-for-nothing gooks, you killed my buddy Gonzalez . . . slanthead motherfuckers, you gave him no chance to be out here long enough to get a fucking piece of gook pussy . . . wasted the bitch . . . my stomach is turning and all the shit is coming out of my head . . . its supposed to come out through my asshole, not out of my mouth. It tastes nasty, my throat feels like a giant shit bowl . . . raattaaa raattaaaa, motherfucker, raatttaaaa, motherfucker, you old bitch, who told you to be in the fucking hut with your baby. Who told you to know me. Im not responsible for your life, bitch. You did it to yourself, not me, not Uncle Sam. You did it to yourself, bitch. You did it. Stop looking at me with your dead eyes, bitch. Ill pluck them out . . . Ill pluck them out and bury them so that you can stop looking at me with those dead eyes . . . stop it . . . fuck you, guys. I dont want her staring at me like if I caused her death. I didnt. You guys saw what happened. Even the lieutenant got it. Should he get a medal? His mother will be proud of him. He died in combat, in combat just like she died in combat. But not Gonzalez, he died like a fool . . . his head blown half-way off. Look at all those flies eating at him already. Man, he must taste good to them or they may be just another product of this piece of earth, starving. Food . . . food is what they see in him. Gonzalez, my lover . . . Ill bury your eyes, bitch. Ill take his tag . . . get the fuck away from him. Ill take his tag home for him, but this bitch will never, not even in her hell, will she see. Im burning her eyes . . . bitch . . . where is the head of the baby, where is it? Get it for me. I want to take a picture to send home to mother. Here, throw me his head, just like a baseball. Here, take my picture . . . stop it . . . stop it. Nooo. GERMN: Hey, hey. SIMMON: What ya want? What the fuck you screaming at me for? GERMN: Cuz you started screaming at me, thats why. SIMMON: What the fuck do you want, anyway? The post is off limits even to you, Rosado . . . beat it. What are you doing out here, anyway? You aint the meal runner. So you have no business here. Look, Im not that gung-ho. You know that, Rosado. But this post
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Miguel Piero is off limits and if you dont leave these grounds, Im gonna have to write you up. GERMN: Look, man, I got orders from the dep to come here. SIMMON: For what? GERMN: To report for duty. If its a mistake . . . but I dont think it is, considering the rumor I . . . SIMMON: I dont wanna hear about any rumors and, what orders? Let me see them. Look, they didnt inform me on any orders about you coming here. Why didnt they inform me? GERMN: Look, Im only a guard here . . . and I aint been here long enough that they would call me into the brass office and let me know confidential information. You know, I just got off probationary period. SIMMON: Put your orders in the basket. GERMN: What are you talking about, man? This aint the fucking Army. SIMMON: What do you know about the fucking Army? GERMN: Look, man, they just tole me to come out here, thats all. SIMMON: Well, I dont know why they would tell you something like that, because it said in the book that there is only one man to a tower, unless theres an emergency, and I dont know of any emergency around here. GERMN: Man, why dont you call the fucking deputy superintendent and cut out all these bullshit hassles? SIMMON: Ill do just that . . . and I would appreciate it if you stop cursing so motherfucking much. GERMN: Call the fucking dep, will ya? Or else Ill leave and let you deal with the fucking brass, and Ill do all the fucking cursing that I want. Im a fucking grown man, Mister Johnson. Understand that now. Dont let my face fool you. SIMMON: Your face is a fool. GERMN: Well, are you gonna call or are you going to let me in there? SIMMON: Just wait a fucking minute, okay? Im calling the D.S.O. Hello, sarge, can I speak with the dep? No . . . nothing personal . . . oh . . . yeah, well, sorry . . . sarge, if its not personal . . . speak to you first . . . yeah, sarge, I got it, sir. . . . Well, theres a guy named Rosado here . . . no, sir, hes outside . . . yes, sir, right away. . . . Well, I wasnt informed that he was coming up here, sir.
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The Guntower Well, no, I dont have any stripes, sir. No, I am not questioning the assignment, sir. The book states, sir . . . no, I dont always go by the book, just that this is a tower . . . yes, sir, Ill let him up immediately . . . right, goodbye. Okay, come on up . . . watch your step. Did you eat yet? GERMN: Yeah, thanks. SIMMON: The meal runner will be around in a while, anyway. GERMN: Yeah, I know. SIMMON: You keep a nice uniform. GERMN: So do you. SIMMON: I try to. GERMN: Shoes are Marine-shined. SIMMON: Yep. GERMN: Served in the Nam? SIMMON: 23 months, 12 of them in the bush country. GERMN: Really? SIMMON: You in the Army? GERMN: Yep, Special Forces. SIMMON: Wow, really! GERMN: Yep. SIMMON: If Id gone into the Army, I would have chosen that, you know? GERMN: Yeah, I kinda like action, you know. SIMMON: So do I. GERMN: How you like the job? SIMMON: Pays okay. A lot of good benefits too. GERMN: Look, man, dont throw dagger stares at me, man. I didnt ask to come up here, you know. Im just a grunt like you, man. I have no say on the assignment of the day, you know, man. Like, be cool. SIMMON: Yare right . . . Im sorry man. GERMN: Look, man . . . SIMMON: Hey, would you please cut that shit out. GERMN: What you talking bout? Look, man, I dont . . . SIMMON: That. Just that. Stop saying look, man . . . look, man . . . thats . . . thats, well, just stop saying it. GERMN: Okay, thats no skin off my back.
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Miguel Piero SIMMON: Man, its that after youre up here a while, youll understand why its not good to keep saying something over and over again and again. GERMN: Thats a nice tie pin. SIMMON: Thanks . . . a gift from a friend. GERMN: You get a lot of gifts from friends? SIMMON: No, not really, about the same amount that you get. GERMN: Shit, I dont get any. SIMMON: You must not have any friends. GERMN: Yeah. SIMMON: Yeah? Yeah, you dont have any friends? GERMN: No . . . not that. I mean I have friends. Everybody has friends. Just that my friends dont give out gifts. SIMMON: Really, is that a tradition among Puerto Ricans? GERMN: How the hell should I know about Puerto Ricans? SIMMON: Just asking. Maybe you did know and I could have learned something. GERMN: Yeah, but I dont know. SIMMON: You think that you ever will? GERMN: Sure, if I put my mind to it, itll pop up just like that. SIMMON: Just like that? GERMN: Just like that. SIMMON: I dont believe you, just like that pop. GERMN: I see no reason why you shouldnt believe me. Have I ever lied to you before? SIMMON: Well, no . . . GERMN: You see. SIMMON: Well, thats because I never really spoke to you before. GERMN: That doesnt mean anything. SIMMON: Of course, it does. GERMN: No, it doesnt. A lot of people never spoke to me. SIMMON: Well, thats nothing new. I know a lot of people that I never met before too. I see them on the streets, in department stores, shopping . . . in the movies, at baseball games. GERMN: Who do you think will take the series this year? SIMMON: The Mets, naturally, who else? GERMN: I thought the Cardinals might take it this year. They got a good pitching team for a back-up.
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The Guntower SIMMON: Naw . . . baseball is like . . . like boxing. Whoever has the strongest punch wins by a knock-out . . . see? GERMN: I dont know about that. SIMMON: Whats there to know? GERMN: A whole lot. Dont you believe in that? SIMMON: Of course, I do. GERMN: Oh, for a moment there I thought you be different in that. SIMMON: No, not me. I was raised Protestant. GERMN: I was baptized a Roman Catholic. SIMMON: So what? GERMN: Thats what I always say: so what. SIMMON: I mean, we both believe in the Lord. GERMN: J. C.? SIMMON: He for me. (Pause.) So, you dont have any friends? GERMN: I have friends. SIMMON: I thought you said that you didnt. GERMN: I have friends. Its just that I dont have any friends. SIMMON: Oh, I see what you mean. GERMN: You do? SIMMON: Sure, you said that you have friends, but that you dont have any friends to speak of. GERMN: Hey, you could be my friend. SIMMON: I have to think about that first. You know, you just dont become somebodys friend just because somebody asks you to be their friend. You know, I mean, it takes time being somebodys friend. GERMN: Thats why I have none. I dont have the time. SIMMON: So, you say that Puerto Rican tradition can pop just like that in your mind, if you put your mind to it. GERMN: Yeah, man, just like that. You know that a bunch of centuries ago my people were dying and they knew that their whole civilization was being wasted. So what did they do? They all got together and transferred themselves out of this planet. SIMMON: Get outta here with that bullshit, man. You expect me to believe that shit? GERMN: Well, its true. Its in the history books. SIMMON: I never read about it. GERMN: Cause you never came across it like I did. SIMMON: You came across it in a book?
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Miguel Piero GERMN: Yeah, in the library. SIMMON: This up here is like a library. GERMN: It dont look like one. SIMMON: Only because it doesnt have any walls about it. GERMN: Yeah, maybe youre right. SIMMON: They just sat down and transferred themselves out of this planet? I dont believe it. GERMN: Well, you know they were very spiritual. SIMMON: So are my people. Black is beautiful. GERMN: Beautiful also are the souls of all my people. SIMMON: That was said by a black man. GERMN: It was? SIMMON: Yep, guy by the name of Langston Hughes . . . he lived in Harlem. GERMN: Hes dead? SIMMON: I think so. GERMN: Aint that something. I thought I said that. SIMMON: No, Langston Hughes said it first. GERMN: That dont even sound like a black mans name. SIMMON: Well, it is . . . at least it was his name. GERMN: You read a lot of his things? SIMMON: When I was a kid. GERMN: You dont read his things any more? SIMMON: Naw, I study up here . . . Im going to college. GERMN: Really, what for? SIMMON: Well, I dont plan to be a correctional officer all my life, you know. I wanna do other things too. GERMN: There aint much to do anymore anyway. SIMMON: Thats what you think. You just aint giving yourself the time. Thats why you have no friends. GERMN: But I have a dog. SIMMON: A hunting dog? GERMN: I dont hunt . . . cant stand to kill anything anymore. The Nam was enough for me in the killing thing. Like it was fun killing there because you had a right to kill. You know what I mean? But then again, I dont know, maybe Ill get a gun and go hunting animals. SIMMON: Remember, they put you in jail for hunting the two-legged kind.
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The Guntower GERMN: Wow, you really get to see the whole play from here. I mean, like you really get to see the whole thing. Look at that view. . . . Wow . . . hey, Simmon Johnson, looka that. Look, you can see the whole play. Wow, nice, really nice . . . look at them idiots over there looking at us . . . look at them looking at us. They sure have a lot of nerve, man . . . they sure do . . . theyre probably talking about us, calling us all kinds of pigs and shit like that, you know. Man, theyre wasting their lives and theyre talking about us. I feel like blowing the motherfuckers to pieces right off. I bet you that I could do it even from this distance, I could. Wasting their lives away looking like . . . like shit. Thats pitiful shit over there, sitting down looking up here . . . I bet you . . . I bet you they wish they were up here and us down there . . . but its not like that because they have no guts to make it up here. But I bet you they wish they had the heart and the guts to be up here dealing with life and lives like we are, right? Goddamn right. Im right, shit, I know that. Im right. Oh buddy, it sure feels great to be alive, dont it? Up here you know what it means to be alive, to be for real with whatever fantasy you want to be for real with, right? Yeah, man, I know that you are getting pissed off at me for being here, man, but remember, I didnt make it happen: someone else did, someone else wrote the shit, someone else passed it on to me and Im only acting it out, so dont blame me, man, blame the dude that wrote the fucking thing. Hes the one to blame . . . like if you get bored just tell me and Ill shut up, be very quiet and you can return to that private world of yours. Hey, why not look at it this way? I am here to help you . . . okay . . . to help you look at that world thats sitting right in front of you and if you let your mind wander to the real truth, youll see what beauty lies in front of you before you meet your death or before you go home to your bickering and daily routine of bills and headaches. Johnson, you have a great bunch of faces out there to look at . . . right through this scope I see many that I wouldnt mind shooting their wigs off . . . you know . . . look . . . am I interrupting what you have created in yourself? Im sorry . . . but now that Im here and you feel interrupted, youll learn to appreciate your fantasy, plastic life of automat dinner parties . . . and when you enter that world and again you remember how much you missed it and youll never neglect a piece of it again . . . right, Johnson?
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Miguel Piero SIMMON: What you want to eat? GERMN: Ham on rye, no mustard. SIMMON: Anything to drink with it? GERMN: Root beer be fine with me, thanks. SIMMON: What you got to pay for it? GERMN: You know something, I take it back. SIMMON: Take what back? GERMN: Asking you to be my friend. SIMMON: Why? GERMN: Because you couldnt be my friend, even if you wanted to. SIMMON: What ya mean? GERMN: I mean even if you wanted to, you couldnt ever be my friend. SIMMON: Why not? GERMN: Because I wouldnt let you. SIMMON: Why wouldnt you let me be your friend? I want to be your friend. GERMN: Well, I dont want you to be, because you dont know enough. SIMMON: Enough of what? GERMN: Of being what you are. SIMMON: A black man? GERMN: No, a thing of power. SIMMON: What power? There aint no power up here. GERMN: You see, you dont ever realize that there is power up here. You can do anything and really get away with it. I mean, you have the power to create and the power to destroy when you are up here, and thats why we cant be friends, because I know of the power and you dont. SIMMON: Maybe you can teach me to be your friend. GERMN: Naw, cant teach an old dog new tricks. SIMMON: Thats being prejudiced. GERMN: No, it aint. SIMMON: Yes, it is. GERMN: It is? Really? SIMMON: Yes, it is . . . you can be prejudiced to many things, not just skin color, my man. I dont want power, anyway. No, thats not true. I do want power . . . and control. We all do.
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The Guntower GERMN: Yeah, but you already got it. Thats why I dont think we should be friends. SIMMON: Maybe youre right. GERMN: I know Im right, you idiot. Dont you realize what you got up here, man. Dont you know whats up here with you every time you climb up here, man. Dont you know? Dont you understand the power you control up here? Every time you are up here looking down at the world . . . look at them looking at you . . . look at them looking at you helplessly, looking at you waiting to see what your next move is gonna be. Dont you know the strength that lies up here with you? . . . the power to control the lives of all those that are staring at you? There is enough power and control up here to fill the egos of every man staring at us. Up here is the doorstep to being a god . . . a creator of life. You see, you dont know them things, but I do. I realized it the first time I saw this place. The first time I saw it I said, thats where I want to be, because thats where the power to control lives is at . . . and I made it my business to get up here to check out if what I believed to be true is the truth . . . and it is. Check it out . . . man, check it out the way its supposed to be checked out. I see more than any of those down there. Maybe I dont hear as much as those down there do, but who the fuck cares about hearing the damn thing anyway. Its seeing and feeling and smelling and tasting the fucking play in yourself. Thats what counts, right? Thats what counts. Nothing else does. I know because I made it my business to know all of it. You see, I can talk down to all of them out there. I can laugh down at them and all they can do is look up at me . . . look up to me . . . thats the power of being God . . . you dont believe that? Here, Im God . . . you dont, huh? Okay, motherfucker, look at this. What is it? Its a gun, right? It kills man. It kills woman. It kills children. It kills whatever I point at. If it has life, it will kill it. Now, do you believe what I am trying to tell you? Baby, you are God, and if you dont believe that I am too, dont bet your last breath on it. You see, God has a sense of humor as well as a sense of insanity. You sit there in the sun thinking that Im crazy or something like that. You sit there thinking that Im crazy, right? But, man, I aint crazy. Theres nothing wrong with me, nothing at all. I am God on earth. I put this gun to your head and you dont know if I really loaded the fucking thing or not. You
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Miguel Piero dont know if I loaded the fucking thing, right? You say to yourself, Is this a fucking play that this sucker is doing or is he for real with that thing? Remember that dude in Texas up in the tower of the university? He went up there and he was God. He took the lives of many people. And now I may take your life, because I feel like I got the power to do so and get away with it. I point this gun out there and everybody sits calm. But if I were to pull this trigger and somebodys head blew away, then Id be considered insane, unless I say I didnt know what happened to me up here. I just became like that dude in Texas. Remember him? And if you saw me smile and blow the head off one of those people out there, you would know what I am talking about, right? And they would scream in fear because they knew they are supposed to fear God. Are you afraid that this might not be part of my job and that I am going all out at this for real? Well, it may be true, who knows? Am I God? Im God. SIMMON: You aint shit. GERMN: What? SIMMON: You hear me? You aint shit. GERMN: Thats why I dont want to be your friend. SIMMON: Fuck you, then. GERMN: You too. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. SIMMON: You, God? Shit, you aint even a man yet. Bet you dont even have hair in your ass. GERMN: I have hair all over me: on my balls, on my chest, on my legs, on my arms. SIMMON: Peach fuzz on your face. GERMN: I got hair in my ass, you wanna see? SIMMON: Yeah. GERMN: Here, look. Do I got hair in my ass? SIMMON: Yep, you have hair in your ass. GERMN: See, you dont know nothing. SIMMON: Never said I knew anything, did I? GERMN: You didnt need to, because I knew you didnt know nothing. . . . SIMMON: Then, you just taught me something, right? GERMN: Well, thats what Im here for.
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The Guntower SIMMON: Next thing thats gonna come out of your mouth is I am carrying out my Fathers works. And thunder will blast throughout the yard and the inmates will come to the gates of their freedom: the parole board . . . GERMN: Not me, Im from Queens . . . but I was born in the Lower East Side. My parents are from Puerto Rico and my wife is Jewish . . . SIMMON: Really? Shit. So fucking what? I didnt ask. I thought you be . . . GERMN: You thought that I would hide my private life. I live right here . . . SIMMON: Look, please, I dont really care about you. You didnt want me to be your friend, so dont treat me like if I said that I am your friend. Ive been working here a short bit. My wifes father works in the administration. GERMN: So what? My wifes father works in security and her brother is a guard too . . . ha . . . take that. SIMMON: You still on probationary station? GERMN: Ill be off it sooner than you were. I bet ya. SIMMON: Are you going to the annual officers and captains dance this year? I am, I got tickets. GERMN: Of course, Im going. What do you think? SIMMON: I dont. GERMN: You dont what? SIMMON: I dont think at all. GERMN: Why not? SIMMON: Because I dont feel like thinking, thats why. GERMN: Thats a good enough reason. SIMMON: Any reason is good enough as long as it has reason. GERMN: You laid a fart. SIMMON: Yeah, so what? Dont you fart? GERMN: Yeah, I guess so. SIMMON: Dont you know? GERMN: Of course, I know. They smell. SIMMON: Have you ever been in the company of a young lady and wanted to lay a fart so bad that you let it out so slow and carefully and . . . ah . . . GERMN: Yeah, yeah, yeah, thats happened to me plenty of times. One time I was in a party and I was holding on to this fart real
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Miguel Piero tight . . . so finally I let loose and the motherfucker was so loud they lowered the music thinking that I had something to say. Funny thing was that not only gas came out, but a whole lotta watery shit spread all over my leg and ass. Man, I was stinking for days after that. SIMMON: Man, thats really funny shit. GERMN: No, man, it was really stinking shit. SIMMON: Youre a riot. GERMN: Yeah, man, I was great in high school shows. SIMMON: So was I. I mean, not as a comedian like you, but as a dramatist actor. GERMN: Really? Thats nice. I always wanted to act . . . as a serious actor, you know . . . never got the break because there was never any part that was right for me, cause, well, you know why. SIMMON: Of course. You guys cant speak English, right? Not like Jose Ferrera . . . he was mean in that picture about that sword fighter. GERMN: Yeah, but I didnt like him in it. SIMMON: You got to be kidding. GERMN: Yeah, I am. SIMMON: He was a mousekateer. GERMN: Were you ever in the cadets? SIMMON: Naw, couldnt afford it. My folks . . . GERMN: I was in one when I lived in the Lower East Side. SIMMON: Did you like it? GERMN: Yes and no . . . SIMMON: Oh, you one of those maybe men? GERMN: No, I mean no, I am not a maybe man. I say yes when I have to say yes and no when I have to say no. But with this I really liked it and I didnt like it at the same time, you know what I mean? Isnt there things that you do that you dont like doing and yet do them because you kinda like doing it? No? Well, you see, you know what I mean . . . I was in the cadets and we had these really pretty uniforms: black and gold and red stripes . . . and the band would play behind us when we went to parades . . . real nice . . . but for some reason or another, nobody liked me. I was always the last one to be chosen to play on any of the teams: baseball or basketball or the track and field days that we had in the summer. Those were real nice. We used to chase the girls and
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The Guntower those that you caught you had the right to take them prisoner and we would all stick our fingers up their cunts and then we would all put them in front of the leaders nose and those that smelled the most would get gold brick detail. Man, you know no one ever came back with non-smelling fingers. Those that did, woo, they would work them to death . . . they would have to do everything in the camp. They would yell out stomachs in, chest out . . . ass out and he would come down the ranks and touch everyones ass. Those who didnt have their ass sticking out enough would have to go take a cold shower. Man, he was sure tough. VOICE: Tough? You aint tough. You aint nothing. Youll never be nothing. Tough? Shit, youre a powder puff and you want me to marry you. Shit, I wanna marry a man, not a sissy. Your brothers are men. Why cant you be like your brothers? They are men. GERMN: Get out of my thoughts. Now! SIMMON: Whats the matter, man? GERMN: Tell her . . . she is inside of me again, she wont leave me alone . . . tell her . . . SIMMON: Get out from inside of him, whoever you are. GERMN: Shes still saying that I aint a man, but I am. Get off me, nigger, get off me. You think I need your help? For what? For what? SIMMON: Man, I felt . . . GERMN: Felt? Feelings? What feelings? The only feelings you got come out in a toiletbowl and you wipe them off on the tissues. I dont need your help. Youre just like her, thinking I need help. I need nobody, because I am a man. I am a man. Im more of a man than a man being a mans man. I am Gods man. You see? You see the outline of my dick? Its pretty, aint it? Its got a beautiful shape. How about yours? Does it curve at the top like mine does? Would you like to see it? SIMMON: No . . . no, thank you. Listen, why dont you put that rifle back, huh? . . . before the brass sees you? GERMN: No . . . I like this rifle and I loaded it with real bullets, man. Its not part of the scene, is it? Up here, you like the Thompson because it makes you feel for real. But me, I like the rifle because its more accurate. You know what I mean? SIMMON: I know that if you dont out that thing, theres going to be trouble from the people up front.
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Miguel Piero GERMN: Let there be, see if I care . . . because you and the rest didnt think I could do this, did you? But I am showing all of you, aint I right? SIMMON: Yeah, man, you are showing us all up. Why dont you call up and get all the people out of here? This way we can do the thing ourselves. You know what I mean? GERMN: No, . . . they paid to get in, right? They committed crimes against the people. SIMMON: We all commit crimes against one another, but shooting people down to prove a point aint proving nothing, except that youre crazy, and then it falls on your people, you know? GERMN: What are you talking about? I aint going to shoot anybody. Do I look like some kind of a nut? SIMMON: No, man, you dont look like no nut to me. GERMN: Yes, I do. SIMMON: Well, man, if you insist on saying that you look like a nut, thats up to you, man. GERMN: Thats what I tell them all, its all up to me. SIMMON: Whats this about a rumor? You said that you really dont pay attention to rumors, but now you never know . . . GERMN: When I was in the cadets I never caught a girl at the track and field meetings. SIMMON: Maybe you wasnt fast enough. GERMN: None of the girls would let me catch them. But I could light a fire faster than anybody else in the troupe. SIMMON: I bet you could. What about this rumor? GERMN: One time I was in the cadets locker room changing my uniform and all the guys were around me looking at me . . . my breasts were large and pointy . . . I was coming of age, I guess. That happens to a lot of boys, you know. They kept looking at me at first. I was shy about it, but, then, every one of them would look and ask me if they could touch them, and more and more I liked the attention . . . they crowded around me, all of them. One day we went on an overnight hike and I slept with two guys that were my best friends in the cadets . . . and that night, Rickie asked me if he could suck on them, and I was upset that he could ask me something like that, but I said yes, and he sucked on them, man, he really sucked on them real good . . . the leader came in . . . and he flashed in the light . . . he was making bed checks . . . and he
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The Guntower saw us . . . and he got real mad . . . and that morning real early he called everybody together and we went for a long trip into the woods and I had to be by the side of the leader. We stopped at this place in the woods and he told the whole group what he saw . . . then he made me strip and he called everyone to pick up their rifles, and two of the boys held me down and the rest spanked me with the rifle butts . . . and then he pulled out his dick. He had a real big dick, bigger than anything I ever seen, and he yelled at me, Your father said that I should do whatever it takes to make a man out of you, and I think the only way youre ever going to be a man is if you know what it means to be a girl . . . and he put it in me real hard, man. All the guys looked at me and smiled like if they all knew they were next. I thought that all my insides were going to burn right out through my stomach . . . and he pushed and pulled and he cursed me. His dick was full of my shit . . . and blood . . . and then I realized that their smiles meant just what I thought. They were all next, every last one of them pushed and pulled in and out my ass like if there was no tomorrow, see. Later on I quit and moved to Queens and I never was able to fuck any of the new boys. I was always late to the happenings all through college. SIMMON: Wow, thats heavy . . . a real scar for your mind. What about the rumor? GERMN: Rumor? What rumor? SIMMON: You said that you heard a rumor about something. GERMN: Oh, yes, the rumor. Well, one of the informers of the institution informed us with this information. SIMMON: Cut the bullshit out, Rosado. GERMN: Okay, killjoy, the rumor is that theres going to be a riot today thats going to be the front for an escape by a group of militants. SIMMON: A riot? GERMN: Yes, a riot. Aint it exciting? Inmates against the administration. Hostages are supposed to be taken. Havent you noticed? Look out in the yard. All the guards are either black or Latin. All the whites are in a safe place. SIMMON: I hope they dont come by this tower with that bullshit. GERMN: This is the first place the inmates are gonna hit . . . and they have firebombs, so I was told.
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Miguel Piero SIMMON: I dont believe it. GERMN: You keep talking like you know me a long time. You think that I would lie to you about anything? SIMMON: Look, maybe them people got the right to complain after the way they are treated in here, out there. . . . Havent you any ears? Dont you speak to your Latin brothers in here? They say that your country is controlled by this country. GERMN: What are you talking about my country? This is my country. I fought in the war for it and so did my father, and my oldest brother died for it and for what it stands. My parents were born over there, not me. I am an American citizen and Im proud to be one. This country has never made me so blue that I would want to be red . . . so dont call me a Puerto Rican. I am an American. VOICE: When you wanna fuck with me, you are a Puerto Rican. If I dont want to do something, its Puerto this and Rican that . . . GERMN: Get out of my thoughts. . . . Get out of my thoughts, bitch. I cant respect you. After I married you I found out that youre a freak. With my people the word respect means more than the love of God . . because when people respect you, they will stand with you in any fight . . . and thats what counts VOICE: When your brothers come around, you become a middleclass faggot. GERMN: Thats a lie. I aint no faggot . . . youre a whore. Thats why I cant respect you, because youre a whore. If you were a prostitute, I would respect you because then you would be dealing in quality merchandise and not like a whore that deals just from between her legs. Whore, thats what she is, a no-good, lowlife, back-streeting whore . . . ha ha . . . and you, you are an American, too. SIMMON: Im the average colored nowhere man. GERMN: What is that supposed to mean? SIMMON: That means that I am a negro . . . with a black mans consciousness in a white mans image of a colored man. GERMN: That means that youre a nigger. SIMMON: Better watch your mouth, boy. GERMN: I better not watch nothing, nigger. You tell me that youre a colored man thinking black, living white . . . to me that means that youre a jive nigger.
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The Guntower SIMMON: I told you before to shut the fuck up with that nigger shit, didnt I? GERMN: Well, why dont you jump at my throat, nigger? SIMMON: Why dont you put down that rifle? GERMN: Why? So that you can kick my ass? SIMMON: Thats right, punk, so that I can put this foot all the way up to the top of your head, punk. GERMN: Why dont you try all that big talk now? SIMMON: Because you got the power. GERMN: You see, there is power. SIMMON: All over this fucking world. INMATE VOICE: Mr. Johnson . . . Mr. Johnson, what the hell is going on? Theyre sounding off the yard. SIMMON: Calm down, brother, calm down. Now get down on the ground and Ill make sure nothing happens to you. I got power up here . . . I got power. INMATE VOICE: What about my boys, Mr. Johnson? GERMN: What about them, you stupid sucker? Fuck them, save yourself. Youre lucky. Hes going to give you the protection. Hes going to give you . . . fucker. SIMMON: Shut the fuck up . . . shut the fuck up, Rosado. You hear me? Shut the fuck up. Go get them. INMATE VOICE: Right on, brother. GERMN: Man, you are stupid. Man, are you dumb. Hes one of them militants. SIMMON: Youre lying. GERMN: Am I? I never lie . . . for what? SIMMON: Because youre fucking crazy, thats why. GERMN: I am not crazy. There is nothing wrong with me. SIMMON: Shut up. You dont know what youre talking about. GERMN: Did you get the information or did I? SIMMON: So what? That doesnt mean anything. GERMN: They got gas bombs. Shit, fucker, that means a lot. You ever see a man burn to death? SIMMON: Yes, I have. GERMN: You scream all the way until you are dead. So now make a decision . . . about death . . . about killing . . . Mr. Average Colored Man in the Middle of the Road.
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Miguel Piero SIMMON: Shut up. You dont know what youre talking about. I know people. GERMN: You know people, you know people. SIMMON: Hes my friend . . . I know him. Hes an inmate, but hes my friend. GERMN: Yeah, but you dont know yourself . . . you think you do, you think you know yourself, but you dont, fucker. You dont know shit. I told that to you the minute I saw you. Hes your friend, heh? What if, for all this time, he had been planning on this break and was just playing friendly to get close to you, to carry this out, to carry this escape? You fool, you fucking fool, were gonna be burnt alive. SIMMON: Youre not worried about it. GERMN: Because I want to die . . . but I want to watch you squirm as you go through this whole shit . . . he catching you unaware . . . yeah, you know people . . . you know people so well that you put yourself in a position to die. A fucked-up death at that, aint it? But like I said, you are God. What are you going to do, its your creation? God, make it great. Are you going to shoot to kill? Are you going to shoot to wound? Are you going to let them get away? What are you going to do? One firebomb up here and were through. And I found my out. What a plot for a movie. I should have been a movie scriptwriter. What a plot . . . taantannramm. Supernigger makes his move. Here come your friends and they are coming running like the devil. It looks like they aint going to stop at the fence. INMATE VOICE: Mr. Johnson theyre beating everybody. Im coming over the tower. SIMMON: Thats off limits. INMATE VOICE: Theyre killing me, Mr. Johnson. Dont shoot. GERMN is laughing. SIMMON takes the rifle from him. LIGHTS.

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Irving
The people in the play. IRVING HOROWITZ (a closet gay, Jewish) MIMI (Irvings sister, late teens, early twenties, hip) BUTCH (black and bisexual) RICHARD (Irvings younger brother, cool and precocious) DAD (Irvings very straight father) MOM (Irvings very straight mother) AL KOOPERMAN (Moms brother, a garment tycoon who puts money ahead of family)

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Miguel Piero IRVING: Ah, gee, Uncle Al, ah, please, Uncle Al, come on, Uncle Al, but, Uncle Al . . . its important, Uncle Al . . . thats not a fair question, Uncle Al . . . no, I didnt mean that youre unfair, Uncle Al, just that its an unfair question, Uncle Al, no, Uncle, I really mean it that I dont mean it. I really mean it, Uncle Al, I really do, Uncle Al, Uncle Al, just cause I say that you ask an unfair question doesnt mean that I really think youre an unfair man, just that you ask an unfair question, Uncle Al. It simply means, Uncle Al, that you ask an unfair question. Thats all and it doesnt mean that youre an unfair man, Uncle Al. No, Uncle Al . . . but . . . but . . . yes, Uncle Al . . . youre right, Uncle Al. Uncle Al, you are the fairest of men . . . yes, Uncle Al, you are also the fairest man in the garment district, I mean, business . . . Uncle Al, listen to me . . . Uncle Al, cant you take an hour or two out of your tax return forms to come up here with me, its really important . . . no, Uncle Al, nothing is as important as tax returns. . . . No, Uncle Al, I dont think you should cheat the government. No, Uncle Al, you should not neglect the family business. Yes, Uncle Al, I wanna have a summer job every summer that Im out of work . . . Uncle Al, I am part of the family, right? Right! So I guess that means you will not show up at the gathering. No, Uncle Al, what I want to announce is not routine. No, Uncle Al, my announcement is not about me joining the Marines . . . no, Uncle Al, I am not converting into any other religion . . . no gurus, Uncle Al . . . its not the Navy. No, Uncle Al, listen to me, its nothing as drastic as soldiering for anyone at any time, anywhere on this planet. No, Uncle Al, I am not getting married to a schwartza or a schickza . . . Uncle Al, will you listen to me? No, Uncle Al, I am not going back to school . . . I had enough of school . . . the Peace Corps? . . . Im not that crazy . . . No, Uncle Al, I did not become a member of the Jewish Defense League . . . No, I am not going to Israel to no kibutz . . . look, Uncle Al, are you going to come over or not? No, I am not threatening you, Uncle Al . . . I have respect, Uncle Al . . . I apologize, Uncle Al . . . yes, Uncle Al, we will speak on it tonight . . . thank you, Uncle Al. HE hangs up, gives the finger to the phone, mimics his uncle asking questions . . . phone rings. IRVING: Hello . . . oh, its you . . . listen, I have no time today for an obscene call . . . fuck you, too . . . no, listen dont do that. Look, if
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Irving youre gonna jump off the bridge, jump, dammit, and stop bothering me today. If you dont mind, I would like to hang up and finish preparing the house for my family . . . yes, I have a mother . . . yes, I love her very much . . . no, I never wanted to . . . hey, what is this? Who are you, Sig Freud? Oh, I see, you go to an analyst. Okay, if thats what turns you on . . . fuck you . . . oh, sure, anything . . . anytime, except real late . . . Im a theatre person. . . . Hey, by the way, Im gay . . . hello, hello, aw, shit, he hung up on me . . . you cant even depend on these crank callers . . . Doorbell rings. MIMI: Hello, sucker. IRVING: Hi, sap. MIMI: This is Butcher . . . Butcher, this is my baby brother, Irving. BUTCH: Hi, call me Butch. IRVING: Hi, Butch. MIMI: What you got to drink? BUTCH: What you got for the head? IRVING: A hat. MIMI: My baby brother still tells corny jokes, Butch. IRVING: I wish that you would please stop referring to me as your baby brother. BUTCH: You smoke? IRVING: No, its supposed to be hazardous to your health. MIMI: He means grass, dummy. IRVING: Once in a while. BUTCH: Is this one of those whiles? IRVING: With my mom and dad on the way here, hardly. BUTCH: You mind if I light up a joint? MIMI: No. IRVING: Yes. BUTCH: Well, which is it, yes or no? IRVING: This is my house and I say no. MIMI: Irving! IRVING: Okay, go in the bedroom and take a can of airspray with you, just in case, you know what I mean? BUTCH: No, I dont. MIMI: What is this all about, anyway, Ira?
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Miguel Piero IRVING: Please stop calling me Ira . . . and youll find out what this is all about soon enough, big sister . . . in due time. BUTCH: (From the bedroom.) Youve done time? IRVING: No. BUTCH: Oh, I thought you said something about time. IRVING: I did. BUTCH: Then you did serve time. IRVING: Only in my mothers womb. BUTCH: In the tombs . . . yeah, thats a heavy place IRVING: Yeah, it sure is. BUTCH: What did you say, brotherman? IRVING: I said that me and my sister are discussing personal family problems and I would appreciate it if you kept out of it. BUTCH: What makes you think I wanna be in your family, anyway, especially have you being ashamed of having done time. MIMI: What would you like to drink, butcherman? IRVING: You name it. BUTCH: You got any pluck? IRVING: Any what? MIMI: Wine. IRVING: Yeah, but its non-union grape wine. MIMI: How would you have something like that in your house? IRVING: Because its my house. MIMI: But, Irving, dont you know anything about the struggle these people are going through, trying to unionize the workers of the fields, my God! IRVING: Dont you use the Lords name in vain and, besides, its the cheapest wine I could get. You know Im not exactly making all the money in the world. MIMI: So you sell out the movement for a bottle of cheap wine. BUTCH: Your brother sure plays himself cheap. IRVING: Look, the only movement Im interested in is the dance class. BUTCH: Of course, I got class. Im with her, aint I? IRVING: Look, would you please mind your business. BUTCH: (Coming out of the bedroom.) Look here, buddy, unless you can fight, you better dig yourself, with the way you come out your mouth, cause the way I witness things with you is that youre too light to fight and too thin to win.
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Irving IRVING: Poetry! MIMI: So are his oversized fists. IRVING: I better warn you, Mr. Butcher, that I happen to hold a brown belt in the deadly art of karate. BUTCH: And I think I better warn you that I hold an oversized razor. . . . MIMI: Will you two please stop it, already, you make me feel uneasy. . . . IRVING: Not enough sun and vitamins . . . BUTCH: Well, I dont know about the vitamins, but I tell you one thing, she gets enough of the sun. MIMI: Funny. IRVING: Very . . . a regular slappy white. MIMI: So, whos coming over? IRVING: I just finished talking Uncle Al into appearing. MIMI: Really . . . you got him away from the tax forms. BUTCH: Hes like my Uncle Wilbur, aways making out the numbers. . . . IRVING: Its not the same thing, taxes and what your Uncle Wilbur does. BUTCH: Sure, its the same thing. IRVING: How do you figure that? BUTCH: Well, look at it this way: taxes deal with numbers and bread, right? Well, so does the numbers . . . numbers deal with numbers and bread too. IRVING: You figured that out all by yourself, didnt you? MIMI: Whats your sign, Butch? BUTCH: Gemini. IRVING: Im a saggetteri. MIMI: Great combination you two make. IRVING: You two make a great combination, too. MIMI: Thank you, Irving. IRVING: You probably deserve each other BUTCH: Are you being nasty or what? IRVING: What. BUTCH: What? MIMI: What? IRVING: He asked me if I was being nasty or what. Well, Im not being nasty, so I must be being what. MIMI: Whatever youre being, you shouldnt be being it. BUTCH: That goes for me too . . . whatever youre being, you should be cool.
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Miguel Piero IRVING: I was just getting warm . . . (The doorbell rings.) BUTCH: How long you been in the city? IRVING: All my life. I was born in Brooklyn. BUTCH: Im talking about the city, not the suburbs. MIMI: Who is it, Irving? IRVING: Its the delivery boy from the Chinese deli. MIMI: Chinese deli? BUTCH: Sure, why not, they have Puerto Rican soul food, dont they? IRVING: Sure, its been blessed by the neighborhood rabbi. They make some good things to knosh on. MIMI: I thought you told me you were going to have a nice little family party with plenty of food. IRVING: Well, I lied . . . and besides, youre getting too fat . . . and I dont have the money to spend. . . . MIMI: Can it, will you? BUTCH: Jesus Christ, cold cuts. IRVING: Would you like some hot cornbread? MIMI: Irving, how dare you? IRVING: How dare me what? You goddamn liberal broads. BUTCH: Be cool, Irving . . . I can dig where youre coming from, my man. IRVING: Can you? MIMI: Butch, let me have one of those joints. IRVING: Which you most likely paid for. MIMI: Irving, youre getting out of hand. BUTCH: No, he aint, hes on it. You want the roach clip? MIMI: No, thank you, honey. IRVING: (Stage whispering.) Whats all this crap about too thin to win, too light to fight all about? BUTCH: Well, its true . . . push comes to shove . . . IRVING: Well, Im pushing . . . BUTCH: And Im gonna shove . . . Miss Thing . . . IRVING: And dont call me Miss Thing . . . Mrs. Thing. BUTCH: Be cool with that shit, Irving . . . you dont want your sister to know where your head is now, do you? IRVING: Oh, do I have a surprise for you, darling honey. MIMI: Oh, I forgot the airspray. BUTCH: Well, Irving, you think the Knicks will take it? IRVING: Oh, sure, if they change into their lavender gym trunks.
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Irving BUTCH: What is it with you, man? IRVING: What is it with you . . . all I did was answer your question. BUTCH: I dont think Im gonna like this party . . . IRVING: As your people say, itll all come out in the wash. BUTCH: Irving, no, this is not what I think that it is, is it? IRVING: And what do you think this is . . . Butchy baby? BUTCH: A coming out party. MIMI: What kind of party did you say, Butch? BUTCH: A blowing out party. IRVING: How about a blow down party? BUTCH: Come, stop talking loud, will ya? IRVING: Is there something you dont wish my sister to hear? BUTCH: There sure is . . . MIMI: Did you call me, loverman? BUTCH: No, baby, go back into the bedroom. IRVING: Yes, go finish your joint, I think youre gonna need your head together pretty soon. MIMI: My head is together, isnt it, baby? BUTCH: It sure is, mama . . . IRVING: It sure is, mama . . . wow, what a lot of crap you run out of your face. BUTCH: Gotta make a living, dont I? IRVING: Do you have to do it this way? BUTCH: No, but can you give me an easier way? IRVING: There are no easy ways to make a living. BUTCH: Like hell, there isnt . . . MIMI: What are you two whispering about? BUTCH: Nothing . . . nothing at all, baby doll. MIMI: Let me have the roach clip, sugar? BUTCH: Sure, sweet thing, here . . . me and your brother are discussing my relationship with you and my intentions. IRVING: And I must say theyre quite honorable. MIMI: My, Irving, I never thought youd ask things like that. BUTCH: He is your brother, isnt he? . . . Hes concerned. IRVING: Yes, I am in more ways than one. MIMI: My, Irving, that touches me deeply. BUTCH: Better leave us men alone for a while. Go and finish your smoke, baby. MIMI: Right . . .
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Miguel Piero BUTCH: Good girl, that sister of yours. IRVING: And she makes good money and has a little store up some place, as if you didnt know. BUTCH: I didnt know that at all, and thats scouts honor. IRVING: You probably stole your scout badge. BUTCH: So happens I did. IRVING: How long has this been going on? BUTCH: What are you talking about? IRVING: You and my sister? BUTCH: About two months. IRVING: You been going out with me for nearly three months. BUTCH: Just trying to share myself with your family. IRVING: Fuck you. MIMI: Listen, this talk has got to end, cause the joints finished and I am not going to spend my time back there waiting from now until doomsday until you two decide that I can have a man. I make my own decisions, thank you, Irving . . . and you, too, Butch! IRVING: Do Mom and Dad know about you and . . . MIMI: . . . and Butch, no! I see no reason for them to know any of my personal life, sexual or otherwise, do you? IRVING: Im a man. BUTCH: Really? MIMI: Yeah! What is that supposed to mean . . . that I lie down and wash dishes? IRVING: Not a bad idea, if only you knew how to cook. BUTCH: Restaurants are good enough for me. IRVING: So are fried roaches . . . and boiled rats . . . MIMI: You want another drink, Butch? BUTCH: Yeah, honeychild. IRVING: I would like one. MIMI: Get your own. (Doorbell rings.) IRVING: Ill get it. BUTCH: What makes you think anybody else was . . . ? Telephone rings. MIMI: You want me to answer it, Irving? IRVING: Yeah, go ahead . . . if its any of my friends, Im not home. BUTCH: I didnt know you had friends. IRVING: They come in all colors too . . . Mom, Dad . . . Richard.
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Irving MOM: Irving, my little baby! DAD: How are ya, Irving? RICHARD: Hey, Irv . . . qu pasa . . . its Spanish for whats happening! IRVING: Hey! Whered you get them clothes, Richard? RICHARD: They call me Rickie on the Lower East Side. MOM: He moved out of the house. He thinks hes a man, already. RICHARD: Hey, mom! But I am! DAD: Then he moves all the way down there with all those Porto Ricans and . . . RICHARD: Hey! Whats happening, my man? DAD: Whos this, a friend of yours, Irving? MOM: Hello, Mimi. Mimi, whats the matter with you? Look, shes white! BUTCH: Well, shes not exactly in my complexion league. DAD: Mimi . . . Mimi . . . MIMI: (Screams.) Theres a nut on the phone, Daddy. IRVING: Oh, my God . . . give me the phone. Hes not a nut . . . MIMI: What do you mean, hes not a nut? I pick up the phone like any normal . . . MOM: . . . good Jewish girl . . . MIMI: . . . and theres this breathing and nasty words and suggestion. . . . God almighty, what is this world coming to?! IRVING: Will you shut up, already. Hes listening. DAD: He should listen to what Im going to say to him. RICHARD: Be cool, Dad. DAD: Do I look like a refrigerator to you? RICHARD: Come on, Dad. IRVING: Come on, Dad. Hes a friend of mine. MOM: A friend of yours? IRVING: Well, not exactly a close friend . . . no, were not friends, dont worry about it . . . but I told you I had company coming to my house today . . . no, no, dont jump off the bridge . . . its too cold out tonight. BUTCH: Tell him the water is polluted too. Hell get sick! DAD: What about my daughter? She is sick. RICHARD: Aw, come on, Dad, theres nothing wrong with Mimi. MIMI: Like hell, there isnt . . . how would you like to pick up the phone and hear someone breathing on the other side?!
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Miguel Piero RICHARD: I think itll be a very hip thing if it happens to me. Most of the time I do it to other people. MOM: Richard!! RICHARD: Rickie, Mom! Rickie . . . thats my new name. DAD: Rickie Harris . . . hes ashamed of Horowitz . . . how could anyone be ashamed of their family name? BUTCH: I dont know, my name is Castleton . . . Butcher Castleton. MOM: Butcher? DAD: Its a name, Mother. IRVING: I mean, like Mimi, how could you call the caller? BUTCH: The who? IRVING: I dont know his name, so I call him the caller. MIMI: You got some friends, I must say. RICHARD: Everybody needs friends. MIMI: But do they need freaks for friends? MOM: Miriam, dont speak like that. DAD: Thats your daughter. MOM: Now shes my daughter. RICHARD: I admit that shes my sister. MIMI: Thank you, Richard. RICHARD: Think nothing of it, sis. IRVING: . . . Because its nothing. MIMI: Screw you. MOM: Miriam! DAD: Miriam! RICHARD: Go on, sis, . . . with the bad mouth. MOM: Where do you pick up such language? IRVING: Most likely from her boyfriend. DAD: Well, I sured like to meet this boyfriend of hers. MOM: So would I. I have one or two things to say to him. IRVING: You already met him . . . Dad . . . Mom . . . Richard . . . meet Mimis male friend. BUTCH: Hi, folks . . . the name is Butcher Garvey Castleton, my friends call me Butch and my foes call me motherfucker. RICHARD: Can I call you Butch? BUTCH: You can call me as you please, its your world, my man. Im just visiting. RICHARD: Vaya! . . . thats Spanish. BUTCH: Its Puerto Rican for anything thats good.
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Irving MOM: Are you planning anything serious? DAD: Are you planning anything serious? MIMI: Mom already asked that question, Daddy. DAD: So she did . . . IRVING: Would anybody like a drink? MOM: Whats the strongest thing you have, son? IRVING: Scotch. MOM: Make it a double. DAD: Mother . . . MIMI: Mother . . . RICHARD: Mother . . . BUTCH: (DAD chugs his drink down.) Wow, you do better than my dad. RICHARD: Hey, man, are you a Panther? MOM: Make it a triple. DAD: That goes for me too. BUTCH: No, my man, Im a pussy cat. MIMI: Mother, I am not getting married to Butch. MOM: Youre not? DAD: Youre not? RICHARD: You making it common law? DAD: Richard, keep your ideas to yourself. MIMI: No, Mom, were just friends. IRVING: Intimate special friends . . . DAD: Oh . . . MIMI: Why are you both acting so hysterical about my relationship with Butch? . . . You taught me to be independent of others . . . to make my own decisions . . . DAD: Maybe we teach you too much too soon. BUTCH: What is that supposed to mean? DAD: Nothing important. IRVING: Everything youve always said has been important. All of a sudden its not . . . strange happenings going on here, Dad. MIMI: In more ways than one, my darling Irving . . . BUTCH: Are you apprehensive of the relationship between your daughter and me because I am a black man? DAD: It has nothing to do with the color of your skin, young man. MOM: None whatsoever. RICHARD: Boy, are you crazy . . . I dont mean boy in the manner that it has been meant to be for your people over the years . . .
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Miguel Piero IRVING: Oh, shut up already with your Im-a-hip-Jew routine, Richard. Its getting downright boring. RICHARD: Im just a human being trying to make contact with other human beings, big brother. IRVING: Why dont you write your letters to the New York Times and keep them in your coldwater flat? RICHARD: Out of the closet, into the street, Irving . . . MOM: Get what out of the closet? MIMI: So, Richard, you had the same feeling about Irving? DAD: What feeling are you talking about? MOM: Mr. Butch, it has nothing to do with the color of your skin. MIMI: No, then why are you so uptight? RICHARD: Theyre not uptight. MIMI: Like hell, they aint! DAD: Youre already beginning to sound like one of them. MIMI: Like one of what? MOM: Like one of them non-Jewish friends of Richard. DAD: So, you see, Mr. Butch, it has nothing to do with your being black at all. RICHARD: None whatsoever. MOM: No, only that youre not Jewish. BUTCH: According to Jewish law, if Im not mistaken, your grandchildren will be Jewish and will fall under Jewish law. MOM: My grandchildren! Oh my, oh my . . . my heart! . . . DAD: Quick, get her purse. MIMI: Whats wrong, Mom? MOM: My heart . . . oh, my heart . . . Im dying . . . my heart . . . BUTCH: Jesus H. fucking Christ! RICHARD: Here, Dad, her purse. DAD: Get the pills, you dumb ox. MOM: Everything is turning black . . . I hear the Lord calling me. IRVING: Aw, come on, Mom, he dont even know your name. DAD: Irving, I cant believe it. IRVING: Look, shes always catching heart attacks. MIMI: It could be the real thing this time. IRVING: You sound like something out of Ben Casey. RICHARD: And you sound like someone out of Hitlers youth. IRVING: (Striking RICHARD.) Son of a bitch!
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Irving MIMI: Stop it, you two, . . . stop it . . . Mom is choking on a heart attack and you two are battling each other . . . this is ridiculous. RICHARD: You fight just like one too. MIMI: Like one what? IRVING: Why dont you two go ahead and broadcast it to the world . . . DAD: How are you, Mother? MOM: Im alright, just give me some brandy. DAD: You have any brandy, Irving? IRVING: Right there on the table, Dad. DAD: How can you two fight over whatever youre fighting over when your Mother is dying of a heart attack? MOM: What is going to happen to us when we retire to the home for the aged? BUTCH: We dont send our old to them places. RICHARD: Thats family love. BUTCH: Also not being able to afford it . . . (Doorbell.) MIMI: Ill get it. AL: Okay, where is that boy? Hello, Mimi. MIMI: Hello, Uncle Al. AL: Oh, I see you still consider me your uncle. RICHARD: Hello, Uncle Al. AL: Well, if it isnt the longhair, freedom-of-expression, cosmictraveling, neo-wandering Jew of the new world! BUTCH: Shitttt! MIMI: This is Butch, my friend. AL: Your chauffer, you said? . . . BUTCH: He man, my man . . . MOM: Oh, my heart. DAD: Calm down, Mother. AL: You have another heart attack again, Ruth? MOM: I almost didnt make it this time, Al. AL: Ill bet. DAD: Hello, Al. AL: Hello, Abe. DAD: Long time no see. AL: Long time since you took the company and most of the business with you, Abe. MOM: Lets not start with personal family problems. AL: Why not, were in front of the family.
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Miguel Piero DAD: Not the whole family. BUTCH: You got a nigger in the woodpiles . . . AL: Let me have a drink. IRVING: Whats that, Uncle Al? AL: My taxes. IRVING: But, Uncle Al, this is supposed to be a party for an important announcement . . . AL: I dont have to look at you to hear you make a speech. (Phone rings.) I got it. MIMI: No. IRVING: No. AL: Theres somebody named Ramn . . . says he got Panama Red. MOM: Panama is red? Since when? I thought Cuba was the only communist Latin country. DAD: So is Chile. RICHARD: Panama Red has nothing to do with politics, Mom. BUTCH: You can say that again, buddy. MIMI: Irving . . . Irving . . . shame shame . . . Panama Red! AL: Well, what ya want to tell the man? . . . Time is money, you know. IRVING: Ill speak to him. Hello, Ramn . . . how are you? No, that was my uncle Al . . . no, no hassles . . . give me one . . . no, tomorrow evening . . . adis. BUTCH: Necessity. IRVING: Excuse me, what did you say? BUTCH: All I said was necessity. IRVING: What about necessity? BUTCH: Adis . . . dame una bolsa de yerba. AL: You want a bag of grass? IRVING: Uncle Al speaks very good Spanish. AL: You have to, its a necessity . . . when you got a bunch of Puerto Ricans working for you that just jumped off the boat . . . excuse me, airplane nowadays . . . and they cant speak a word of English . . . youd be surprised how many of them can speak Yiddish before they can speak English. BUTCH: Thats what I was saying, my man. AL: I am not your man . . . I am my own man, have been, will be until the Lord comes to visit me and then Ill give him an argument about it too. BUTCH: Hallelujah, praise the Lord!
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Irving Shots are heard. IRVING: I recommend that everyone stay away from the window. MIMI: Why? BUTCH: That was no backfiring that you heard, baby. MOM: Oh, dear God. More gunfiring. DAD: Why dont we all sit on the floor? RICHARD: Not a bad idea. AL: Well, I am one that does not believe that its a good idea. IRVING: Uncle Al! BUTCH: Thats up to you, my man, but where I come from, when you hear shots, you duck and pray the cop isnt aiming in your direction. . . . RICHARD: Well, Im with Uncle Al. AL: If we dont bow to God . . . I definitely am not bowing to man or his creations of death. RICHARD: Me neither. IRVING: Then why dont you stop making believe that youre tying your shoes . . . RICHARD: There. Police siren. BUTCH: The Man. IRVING: Ditch the shit. RICHARD: (Laughing.) Did you see him go for his pocket. DAD: Officer! (By window) Officer, theres one over there, Officer . . . hello, up here, officer! IRVING: Dad, what the hell are you doing? BUTCH: Your old man is a rat. MOM: Dad, mind your business. IRVING: Dad, you wanna get me burnt out of here? DAD: What are you talking about? Im just trying to help the police. BUTCH: Aint this a bitch? RICHARD: In this neighborhood thats a no-no, Dad, cause the guy could have taken a shot at you. MOM: God . . .
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Miguel Piero DAD: Thats why I tried to warn the officer. RICHARD: Not the man on the run, Dad, but the cop. BUTCH: Thats right, Mr. Horowitz, when theyre after somebody who has a gun, theyre as jumpy as a dope fiend with his jones coming down. DAD: Though He may slay me, yet I will trust in Him and I will serve Him without hope of reward. BUTCH: Thats pure unadulterated bullshit. AL: Watch your language, young man. IRVING: Poor education. MIMI: Crap. MOM: Watch your language, young lady. RICHARD: Young lady? (Giggles.) Mom, you better watch out. MIMI: Up yours. AL: Well? IRVING: Well what? AL: Well, what did you invite me up here for? DAD: You mean you have to have something special to come and visit your nephew? AL: You mean you have to take all the business to be rid of your troubles? DAD: What are you talking about? AL: Dont hand me this innocent mashugana talk. RICHARD: You two are still fighting over the split? AL: If it had been a split, I wouldnt be fighting and Ill let you know, young man, that we are not fighting, at least I am not fighting with anybody . . . I am just bringing up facts about a certain backstabbingfalse-teeth-balding-type-wearing-a-hole-in-the-wall rat that married my sister on the run. DAD: Ten years, Al . . . ten years, Al, that I put up with your ignorance . . . your stupidity . . . your . . . your. . . hard-headed stubbornness. . . your . . . MOM: Your blood pressure . . . dont get excited! . . . AL: Let him get excited, maybe hell pop a blood vessel. BUTCH: And ruin little Irvings rug? AL: Ten years of your soft bleeding heart for every crook that ever took a dress off a rack. DAD: Listen to him talk . . . the strong-gut Sampson of the garment district.
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Irving MOM: Your blood pressure, dear! DAD: Blood pressure . . . blood pressure . . . AL: Yeah, stay out of this . . . DAD: This is my blood pressure, this nut brother of yours! AL: Who are you calling a nut? DAD: You and your whole family are crazy and lazy, with no imagination whatsoever to foresee the smell of horseshit in a stable. You think . . . you think . . . IRVING: Dad, are you all right? MIMI: Dad . . . Dad . . . please, calm down. DAD: Calm down? RICHARD: Yeah, Dad, be cool before you blow a fuse. AL: Well, at least he comes out with the truth of how he feels about us . . . BUTCH: I think I better leave . . . strangers are not well . . . AL: Be quiet, young man. MIMI: Youre my guest. RICHARD: My man, right on. IRVING: My man, limp wrist. DAD: You stay, the whole world should know this. AL: The whole world, no less. DAD: The whole world should know how narrow minded you think. AL: My thinking cant be that narrow if you feel the whole world should be informed about my thoughts. DAD: Thats all you were: a lot of empty words, for all the time that we worked together . . . for all the times that we traveled together . . . for all the times that we ate together, and you stuck me with the bill. . . . Thats what you are, Al, an empty dictionary sticker. What time did you ever take the blame for any business failures? Not one time did you ever take on the responsibilities for being wrong. It was always good old reliable Abe that took the blame . . . but when something good came along, it was industrious Al who got the credit. . . . I helped build that company from the ground up too, Al. AL: I never said different . . . DAD: No, you never said different . . . but also you never said anything that would make the rest of the workers proud of me . . . I was the cutter, Al. AL: I was the business head, Abe.
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Miguel Piero DAD: But so was I . . . every holiday . . . there was an office party, you always had someone introduce you . . . Ladies and gentlemen . . . fellow workers . . . and on and on it went until a half hour later . . . and here is the man who gave us all an avenue to exist in this world of bill collectors: Al Kooperman. Then you would go and make a speech of your headaches, of your endless quest to keep them all employed, enabling them to feed and clothe their families . . . what a lot of crap those office parties were, and why was it that it was you that would introduce me, Heres my partner, Abe Horowitz . . . I barely ever heard my name . . . and this year-after-year pattern never changed . . . the employees did, so he always used the same speech every year, with the same introduction . . . that was written by Mr. Al Kooperman himself. AL: So thats it! DAD: No, thats not it . RICHARD: What is it, Dad? MOM: Be quiet, Richard. DAD: No, thats not it, but why didnt you ever have a speech like that for me? Why didnt you ever have an introduction like that for me? AL: Why didnt you have it for yourself? I wrote my own introduction and I wrote my own speeches. DAD: Speeches?! AL: Well, all right, a speech, but that doesnt alter the fact that I did write it myself . . . and had the guts to read it over and over again. I always thought you werent interested in that kind of attention. DAD: Well, I was. BUTCH: Can I have another glass of wine, please. IRVING: Dinner is . . . AL: Im not hungry. DAD: Neither am I. MOM: Frankly, son, I couldnt eat very much myself. RICHARD: This is more appetizing than food right now, Irv. MIMI: Im on a diet . . . a piece of bread with butter will do fine. IRVING: How about you? BUTCH: Why not . . . theres nobody else here but you and me. IRVING goes to the record player. IRVING: Music. BUTCH: Soft.
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Irving IRVING: Lights. BUTCH: Soft. IRVING: I have candles. BUTCH: All the better. Music: Im in the Mood for Love. The family keeps up the argument. IRVING and BUTCH set up the table, sit down to eat, never taking their eyes from each other. DAD: But, I fixed you good, didnt I? How is the business coming along? AL: Great, Abe. DAD: I worked every day out there on the table with the men. Not once did you ever put in an appearance until payday. AL: I worked my way up to be a boss . . . my working days are over. DAD: Were over. AL: You took all the experienced cutters with you. DAD: You kept all the contracts. AL: What are contracts without the people to produce them? I had lost two of them already, plus the payments on the damaged garments. BUTCH: Did you cook this yourself! IRVING: Family recipe. BUTCH: Good. IRVING: Thank you. BUTCH: You sure you wanna do what you plan to do? IRVING: I see no reason why not. BUTCH: I do. IRVING: Them? They dont miss me. They dont even miss me in my own home . . . they wouldnt miss me later on. BUTCH: What would you gain? IRVING: What would I lose? MOM: And you, dear, are becoming as big as a zeppelin. MIMI: If you dont mind, Mom RICHARD: Go on, girl, give her a good one for both of you. MIMI: Up yours! IRVING: If I stood up right now and announced to them my feelings . . . my lifestyle . . . they would all leap up in the air with glee . . . and pour wine into my shoes and drink and toast my newfound happiness and we would celebrate for days . . . and days and days . . . BUTCH: Really?
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Miguel Piero IRVING: No, its just one of those bullshit dreams sons have in front of their families . . . BUTCH: Heres to dreams. IRVING: And may we never wake up. AL: So, how are the taxes treating you? DAD: They dont treat me well at all. AL: Hows that? DAD: Have you ever heard of accountants? AL: Yeah, sure, theyre for people who dont have the guts and brains to cheat the government with their own wits, so they get a front man. BUTCH: So, you really are going through with it. IRVING: Of course, you dont think I brought all these people together just for good old times. BUTCH: Are you going to say anything about me and . . . IRVING: No . . . not unless they ask me if I have a lover. BUTCH: By the looks of it they wont. IRVING: Richard. BUTCH: The pseudo hip. IRVING: Yes, the pseudo hip . . . the would-be wise child of Mr. and Mrs. Horowitz is pretty bright. BUTCH: He must use good toothpaste. IRVING: My . . . my . . . how dry we get when we fear the truth. BUTCH: I fear nothing. IRVING: Except yourself. BUTCH: Dont go into your guru kick on me, Irv. IRVING: Ohmmmmm. BUTCH: What Im basically saying is simply, if youre gonna drag your shit into the street, leave mine alone. IRVING: Its my coming out party, not yours. BUTCH: Look, man, why this sudden rush to let the world know youre what you are? Would it make a difference? IRVING: Thats what I hope to find out. BUTCH: And if it did? IRVING: Well, it does. BUTCH: Look, man, why not just let your people die in peace? IRVING: Have they ever let me live in peace? MOM: What are you saying, Irving? DAD: Ive never gotten into your life, Irving.
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Irving RICHARD: Neither have I . . . nor anyone else, for that matter, Irving. In fact, Irving, you remind me of a hermit. BUTCH: Hes hardly that. MIMI: How would you know? RICHARD: Why are you rapping that down anyway? AL: Yeah, Irving, whats it all about? MOM: I dont understand the meaning of we not letting you live in peace. AL: That makes no sense at all. IRVING: It makes a great deal of sense when you are what I am. AL: And what the hell is that . . . a rapist . . . a killer . . . an undercover rabbi? IRVING: A homosexual. Silence. Pause. AL: Yeah, well, go see a psychiatrist. RICHARD: Are you a member of the Gay Activist Alliance? MOM: I dont understand. IRVING: Whats there to understand, Mom? Im vulnerable . . . as soft as a water balloon . . . which anyone can burst at will . . . for fun . . . for spite . . . for abuse . . . for whatever neurotic reason. See, Mom, anyone can write graffiti about me in any public john where a blank space stares at a magic marker. Whenever a person goes into a public toilet or any toilet, for that matter, and he has in his possession a magic marker, besides relieving himself, he has one other purpose for going in there: thats either to hurt somebody by writing silly things on the walls, such as Irving Horowitz is a homosexual, or hes going to advertise himself, his wit, his poetic sense, his disapproval of politics today, commentaries on the state of the nation, on the state of his mind, his desires or his lost religion . . . A man with a magic marker is a hired killer, like a soldier in Vietnam or a policeman in the South Bronx. Some use a gun and some use a pen, while others dont give a shit how they use their tongue. MOM: I dont understand . . . AL: Oy vey ist mir! You mean you got me out here to tell me youre a faggot? MOM: I dont believe him.
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Miguel Piero RICHARD: I do. DAD: Why didnt you send us all a letter? AL: Yeah, why the hell you got us all together for? A telegram would have been just as good. IRVING: Yeah, I could see it now: Dear Uncle AlstopIm a homosexualstopRegardsIrving RICHARD: Thats great. You know, I had an experience like that in the Army . . . well, actually not me . . . a friend of mine did . . . he did it to get out of the service. Weird dude. IRVING: You got out early, didnt you, Richard? RICHARD: Yeah, but for nothing that fucking weird. I aint no queer. BUTCH: A poet has spoken. MIMI: Please, Butch, keep out. IRVING: Hes in. RICHARD: How deep? BUTCH: You had to do it, didnt you, Irving? You couldnt play your own card by yourself. You just had to pull my hold card. IRVING: Well, Butch, I guess its a game of cards. MIMI: I dont believe it . . . I cant believe it . . . I refuse to believe it. In background MOM is mumbling, I cant believe it and where did I go wrong? RICHARD: Youre not leaving any room for Moms not-believing statement. MOM: You dont look like a homosexual. DAD: You sure dont, kid. AL: Go see a psychiatrist, theres still time. MOM: You dont act like a homosexual. DAD: You sure dont, kid. AL: Go see a psychiatrist. I have a friend who knows one . . . and he accepts MasterCharge. MOM: No, hell blame it on me. RICHARD: Well, Mom, you are a little overbearing at times. MIMI: At last, I got a sister. BUTCH: Mimi, thats not necessary. MIMI: Since when does a man like you buck up a queer? BUTCH: Why the fuck . . . excuse the language, Mrs. Horowitz, do you have to call him a queer? MIMI: What would you call him, a sissy?
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Irving RICHARD: How about lover? MIMI: Richard, watch yourself. IRVING: Well, Butch? BUTCH: Its as good a term as any. MIMI: I dont believe it. AL: You mean to tell me hes a homosexual, too? RICHARD: Black and gay. DAD: A two-time loser. MOM: Him too? Lord! MIMI: You mean you and my brother . . . no, no, thats not so. Look, Butch, who do you prefer, me or him? MOM: Irving, you dont march? DAD: And if you do, wear sunglasses. MIMI: Well, Butch, Im waiting. BUTCH: For what? MIMI: For the answer. Who do you prefer? IRVING: Well, I know who I prefer. BUTCH: Shut the fuck up. MIMI: Oh, I see, you both are a regular married couple. IRVING: Well, I wouldnt say that. MIMI: No, what would you say? BUTCH: Im leaving. MIMI: Taking the easy way out? RICHARD: A cop-out artist. AL: The only question I wanna ask is, Irving, do you think itll keep you from making money? IRVING: Yes and no, it all depends on how far gay liberation goes. AL: Oh, how I hate politics. MIMI: I dont give a damn about money or politics. I wanna know about Butch. . . . MOM: I cant believe it. RICHARD: Go get em, sis . . . stay on the case . . . BUTCH: A regular Sherlock Holmes. IRVING: Oh, shit! You want some notes, Butchy? MIMI: Why not call him Mary? BUTCH: Why not call you motherfucker? IRVING: Down boy, down. BUTCH: I think both of you are very charming. IRVING: Why, thank you, Butch.
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Miguel Piero BUTCH: Think nothing of it. IRVING: I dont. RICHARD: That gay talk . . . IRVING: My, my, you know a lot about gays, dont you? BUTCH: Probably school research, right, Richard? AL: Look, seriously . . . IRVING: What makes you think I am not serious? AL: Irving, enough of this crap. Now that you made your declaration of being a faggot to the family, what next? BUTCH: The world . . . MOM: Oh, no . . . DAD: Hes kidding . . . you are kidding? He is kidding, isnt he, Irving? AL: What was the purpose of this whole public address crap, anyway? Who the hell cares whether youre a faggot or not? IRVING: You do. AL: All I care about is your wealth . . . health . . . and wealth . . . RICHARD: So, Butch, you are the nigger in the woodpile? BUTCH: I guess I am. MIMI: Well, I have never really been selfish, but Im leaving. Coming, Butch? BUTCH: Later. MIMI: Ill leave the key in the mailbox. Bye, Mom. MOM: Youre leaving at a time like this, at a time of crisis? MIMI: What crisis? MOM: I dont believe it, so I cant say it. MIMI: Mom . . . Mom . . . RICHARD: What do you mean there is no crisis? If Irving hadnt felt there was a crisis in his lifestyle, sis, he would have never called us together. If I remember correctly, you called me and told me Irving said it was extremely important that we attend this dinner . . . in fact, you said, emergency. MIMI: Yes, but that was because he told me that. MOM: So there, you see there is a crisis. RICHARD: Are you contemplating suicide, Irving? Its not worth it. . . . Live the life you have accepted for yourself. IRVING: There is no crisis, Mimi. And Richard, you keep those Kung Fu slogans to yourself. I just felt the need to establish in your minds what I am.
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Irving MOM: Oh, my poor baby. MIMI: Good night, Mom . . . Dad . . . Richard . . . Butch . . . Ill wait up for you. AL: Listen, Irving, next time you have something on your mind that is as important as what you brought me out here for, why not do like every neurotic in New York does . . . call a 24-hour help me or something like that . . . they have suicide lines . . . drug lines . . . drunk lines . . . so I betcha they have a line where faggots can call. DAD: Al, let me speak to you about . . . come on, Selma . . . its been great, Irving. . . . So long, Richard . . . get a haircut. AL: Let him keep his hair long . . . at the price of a haircut today . . . let me tell you . . . so long, Irving. (They exit.) MOM: I cant believe it. IRVING: Good night, Mom. BUTCH: Good night, Mrs. Horowitz. MOM: You too . . . I cant believe it . They sit in silence drinking. RICHARD: Well, I guess Ill be going. BUTCH: Keep on going on. Later, baby. RICHARD: Good night, Ira. IRVING: Youre a bitch, Richard. RICHARD: Yeah. IRVING: I love you. LIGHTS.

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Sideshow
The people in the play. HECTOR (the Man, from 11 to 13 years old, Puerto Rican) MALO (the Merchant, 15 to 16 years old, Puerto Rican) CLEARNOSE HENRY (13 to 15 years old, glue-sniffer, Puerto Rican) TUTU (the Smoke Dealer, 16 to 18 years old, Black) CHINA (Tutus girl, 14 to 16 years old, Puerto Rican) SUGAR (prostitute, 15 to 18 years old, Puerto Rican) LUCKY (pimp, 17 to 18 years old, very handsome, Puerto Rican) PANCHO KID (hustler, 15 to 17 years old, Puerto Rican) CISCO (apprentice hustler, 12 to 14 years old, Puerto Rican) CUSTOMER (jbaro, 25 to 30 years old, Puerto Rican) SUPER (35 to 40 years old, Black)

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Miguel Piero The latter two roles should be played by the oldest dude in the cast. The first voice in the play should be male, and the second voice should be female and motherly. The dance scene should be contemporary dancing. HECTOR: Hurry, hurry, step right up and see the baddest show in town for only fifty cents. MALO: Hi, Im Malo the Merchant. I see anything and everything. Anyone care to buy a watch . . . cheap? NILSA: Hey, mira, Malo, quieres comprar un television brand new? I just liberated it. MALO: No. NILSA: Come on, man . . . my jones is coming down . . . its brand new . . . MALO: Brand new! Are you crazy? What you think I am, a sap? Shit, this thing has a broken antenna . . . channel button is missing . . . NILSA: How much you give me? MALO: Twenty dollars. NILSA: Twenty dollars? Man, come on, Malo, dont be like that. MALO: Man, I aint gonna make the market scene with you, brother. Twenty dollars, take it or leave it. NILSA: Ill take it . . . later, Malo. MALO: Later. TUTU: Whats happening, people? Im Tutu. I deal smoke and I do it for a living . . . and this here is my woman, China. She young girl . . . but she cool . . . CHINA: Im China, Tutus woman. Hes a good man. I hold his smoke . . . sometimes I help him make a play or run a game. MALO: Hey, Tutu, wanna buy a T.V. set . . . brand new? Brotherman, dig this here . . . P-a-n-a-s-o-n-i-c and its got this new antenna . . . you dig . . . short ones so they aint all over the place getting in your way and shit like that . . . TUTU: Okay, Malo, cut the shit short, bro. We need one for the bathroom, anyway. MALO: Hey, man, thats cool. This way you dont miss out on the soap opera when you take a shit. CHINA: Funny! Why dont you talk that foul fuckin language somewhere else. TUTU: Yeah, like, be cool, motherfucker.
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Sideshow MALO: Excuse me, sister . . . TUTU: Whatcha want for it? MALO: Seventy dollars. TUTU: Later. CHINA: Vayaaaaaa. MALO: Okay, okay, wait a second . . . thirty-five dollars . . . so, okay? TUTU: What you think, baby? CHINA: Its cool with me. MALO: Vaya. Here. TUTU: Wait up, bro, I aint gonna be carrying that shit with me all day. Im out here to make my money, bro. Look, man, you know where I live at, right? Give it to the super, okay? Tell im Ill pick it up tonight. Later. MALO: Later. PANCHO KID: My name is Pancho Kid. I been out here hustling for two years. I do it cause I like the bread and the feeling. This here is Cisco. CISCO: Im Cisco. Im new around here. Im supposed to be hustling, but I aint making much money. CLEARNOSE HENRY: Im Clearnose Henry and I sniff glue because its a together thing. LUCKY: How do you do? My name is Lucky and Im a gentleman of leisure. SUGAR: Hi, Im Sugar. Im Luckys Woman. Im out here hustling the streets for Lucky, trying to make a living, doing the best I can for my man. NILSA: Me, my name is Nilsa. Im a dope fiend. Oh, yeah, and a thief. HECTOR: Hi, my name is Hector. Im the Man. Welcome to my world. CHINA: Tutu, I dont wanna hold the smoke no more. TUTU: Why? CHINA: Cause Im getting scared, thats why. And besides, you know, that couple from cross the street got busted dealing smoke last night. TUTU: Thats because they werent as cool as we are, baby. And anyway, girl, if we did get busted, you think Id let you take the weight? CHINA: No.
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Miguel Piero TUTU: Okay, then, its settled. Lets go make some money, cause theres plenty of it out here. PANCHO: Cisco come ere. CISCO: What the fuck you want? PANCHO: Im gonna teach you something about the hustle. CISCO: Like what? PANCHO: Like if you gonna rip off some of your scores, make sure you keep this in mind. Rip off the old ones, cause they dont fight back. Now, the young ones you got to be cool with cause some of them niggers may be karate black belts and what not. You dig? Now what you do with a young trick is you give them a rap like you aint got no place to go . . . and that you hungry and shit like that, and if you have to let a tear fall out of your eyes, then you let a tear fall out of your eyes . . . you get into their confidence . . . look around, check out the windows, the strength of the door . . . and also check out if you can cop an extra set of keys. If you cop them, get your boys and rip off the dude for everything he got . . . make sure he dont find out you did it. CISCO: . . . And if he does? PANCHO: If he does, make sure your boys are packing when he comes around . . . (Shouts.) Hector, bring down the basketball. HECTOR: Wait up, Im looking for it. MALO: Come ere, everybody, man, come ere. Hey, lets do a play. CLEARNOSE: I dont want to be in no play. MALO: If you dont want to do nothin, dont do nothin. HECTOR: What kind of play? MALO: Hold up, let me see . . . oh, yeah, remember the time we got busted, me and Clearnose . . . we got sent to Spofford . . . the time when that little kid got fucked, remember . . . ? Everybody laughs. MALO: (To CHINA.) You be a social worker and (To PANCHO.) you be a typist and (To NILSA.) you be a guard. CHINA: I dont want to be no fuckin social worker. MALO: Well, youre gonna be a fuckin social worker. Now we need the kid that got fucked. Everybody looks at CLEARNOSE.
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Sideshow MALO: Why dont you play the part of the kid? CLEARNOSE: No way in the world you gonna get me to play that part. EVERYBODY: Ah, come on, man, dont be like that. MALO: Come on, lets do it, its boring around here. CLEARNOSE: Naw, man, I dont want to play the kid who gets fucked. MALO: Man, how long you know me? Do it for me, bro. CLEARNOSE: No. MALO: Ill give you a box of tubes. CLEARNOSE: A box of what? MALO: A box of glue. CLEARNOSE: All right, all right. MALO: Im director. EVERYBODY: Ahhhh, it figures, it figures. MALO: (To PANCHO.) Come on, man. PANCHO: (Sitting down on some steps.) I dont want to be in it, man. MALO: Come on. (Grabs his hand.) MALO pushes everything out of the way, then puts everything back in the same place. HECTOR: Malo, Malo, look what I got here, a table for the typewriter. MALO: Naw, get out of here, thats no good. Where did you get this from? HECTOR: Right over there. MALO puts it back, and picks it up again. MALO: Hey, look what I got here, a table for the typewriter. . . you put it like this, and you put the typewriter right here . . . then the typist can go tack, tack, tack. (Makes sounds like typewriter.) CLEARNOSE is combing his hair. HECTOR: Come on, man, come in already . . . youre not on Broadway. MALO: Come on, come ere, hurry up, man. CLEARNOSE walks in. HE attracts attention.
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Miguel Piero HECTOR: God damn, yous a fine mother, Clearnose. MALO: (Directing CLEARNOSE.) Go into the social workers office. CHINA: (As social worker.) Whats your name? CLEARNOSE: Clearnose. CHINA: Clearnose what? CLEARNOSE: Clearnose Henry. CHINA: Room 106. (Takes CLEARNOSE to the dorm room and introduces him around.) Malo, this is Clearnose Henry. Hector, this is Clearnose Henry . . . CHINA returns to her office, followed by HECTOR trying to grab her ass. MALO, CLEARNOSE and HECTOR sit on the floor. MALO: Is this your first time in here? CLEARNOSE: Yeah. MALO: It is? Well, let me tell you what goes on around here. We eat breakfast at six, lunch at eleven and dinner at seven. Lets see, what should we do now? HECTOR: I got an idea, I got an idea. MALO: What? HECTOR: Lets show him the psychedelic bathroom. MALO: Naw, man, I got a better idea. HECTOR: What? MALO: Lets show him the psychedelic bathroom. HECTOR: Thats what I said, dummy. All three get up, MALO and HECTOR grab CLEARNOSE and try to take his pants down. The landlord enters. LANDLORD: Hey, what are you kids doin here? Shouldnt you be in bed at 2 oclock in the morning? (To MALO.) Hey, didnt I see you around here before? I told you kids not to hang out around here . . . youre disturbing the peace. MALO: But, sir. LANDLORD: (LANDLORD overtakes MALO.) If I catch you here again, Im gonna call the cops on you. The LANDLORD exits, HECTOR and MALO attack CLEARNOSE again. CHINA rushes in.
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Sideshow CHINA: Hey, whatcha doin to that kid? (SHE grabs CLEARNOSE.) MALO: Oh, I know that kid from the Bronx where I live at. CHINA: You dont live in the Bronx . . . you live in Staten Island. MALO: Oh, I mean I go to the Bronx just to go dancin. MALO starts dancing. CHINA walks away with CLEARNOSE to the office. CHINA: What you want? HECTOR and MALO listen outside the door. CLEARNOSE: I want a transfer. I want a transfer. Theres a whole bunch of faggots in my dormitory trying to fuck me. MALO: (As director.) You dont say it like that. You be Malo and Ill be Clearnose. This is the way you say it: I want a transfer, I want a transfer, those kids are trying to fuck me. (MALO says it in an angry manner.) CLEARNOSE: (Being MALO.) You dont say it like that, you say it like this . . . (CLEARNOSE repeats what MALO says.) MALO: What are you doin? CLEARNOSE: You told me to be you!! MALO: Stupid. CHINA: Who are the kids, can you recognize them? CLEARNOSE: The one with the ugly face, and the short dumb lookin one over there. MALO: Theres a door there, stupid. CHINA: No, you cant have a transfer. CLEARNOSE: What do you mean I cant have a transfer? CHINA: (Shouting.) You cant have a transfer! CLEARNOSE walks out of the office. MALO: Whatcha doin, remember theres a door there! CLEARNOSE goes back and walks through the door and goes back to the dorm room. MALO: You aint mad about what happened today? Its just that when you got up, we forgot to tell you that the floor was just waxed, and you fell and we were trying to help you up.
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Miguel Piero HECTOR: What did they ask you in the social workers office? CLEARNOSE: Nothin, they just wanted to know more information about the robbery. HECTOR: What robbery? CLEARNOSE: The robbery that got me here, stupid. MALO: Thats not what I heard. I heard you ratted us out. CLEARNOSE: Who told you that? MALO: A little birdie. CLEARNOSE: I didnt rat you out. MALO: (To PANCHO.) Keep chickie. (MALO throws CLEARNOSE against the wall.) Yes, you did. Stop lying. (MALO starts choking him. CLEARNOSE is pushed to the floor. MALO is on top of him, strangling him.) CLEARNOSE: Ohhhhh, the pain, the pain . . . agony, agony, agony, agony, agony, etc. CLEARNOSE rolls around on the floor, holding his throat, groaning. HE moves toward CHINA, sits on her lap, starts kissing her. MALO: What are you doin? Youre supposed to be dying. HECTOR: Why dont you die already? MALO: You see this fist? Youre going to die for real. (MALO pushes CLEARNOSE to the floor and starts choking him again.) You ever seen in the movies when someone gets choked . . . they die, right? CLEARNOSE: Yeah. MALO: Then die, then. CLEARNOSE groans some more, then dies. CHINA: Boy-slaughter, boy-slaughter!! HECTOR is praying and crying over CLEARNOSE, crossing himself and sobbing. CHINA: (To HECTOR.) Come ere. What did you do to that kid? MALO: Hey, leave my brother alone, leave my brother alone. CHINA: Then you take the responsibility. CHINA takes MALO into her office.
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Sideshow CHINA: Why did you kill that kid? MALO: What kid? (Playing with her blouse.) Thats a nice blouse. CHINA: Forget about the blouse. I asked you a question. Why did you kill that kid? MALO: I didnt kill nobody . . . (Still looking at the blouse.) I like the designs on your blouse. (Touching her collar and moving down to her breasts. MALOs other hand is in his pocket masturbating.) HECTOR: Yo, Clearnose, check this out. Malos jerking off. (Both HECTOR and CLEARNOSE imitate MALO.) CLEARNOSE: Oh, shit. (HE and HECTOR start laughing and walk away.) Hey, Malo, theres a customer coming. CHINA: Comon, lets play a little longer, man. MALO: You dont support me, bitch. (MALO grabs his rack and starts selling clothes.) Ropa, ropa por vender caro y barato. (HECTOR runs through the middle of the rack.) What the hell you doin? (Starts chasing HECTOR, grabs him and takes him to the rack.) Hey, what the fuck you doin? This is my motherfuckin rack. Dont play that shit with me! (MALO kicks him in the ass.) HECTOR walks over to CLEARNOSE. CLEARNOSE calls him stupid. Then a customer walks in. SUGAR: Hey, mister, you wanna have a nice time? CUSTOMER: No, no, I dont got no money. You take credit? Food stamps? SUGAR: Hey, pendejo! TUTU: (Calls customer over.) You wanna buy some smoke. CUSTOMER: You want a cigarette? Yeah, I got a cigarette. TUTU: No, you know, smoke, marijuana. CUSTOMER: You shoot marijuana in your veins? CISCO: (Holding his crotch invitingly.) Hey, mister . . . CUSTOMER: Ill tell your mother . . . NILSA tries to pick his pocket. CUSTOMER sees him and starts chasing him. MALO: Oye, pana, ven ac un momento. Mira esto. Le gustara comprarse un reloj caro barato? CUSTOMER: Qu es, hombre? Djame quieto.
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Miguel Piero MALO: No te vayas. Mira, qu lindo es este reloj. CUSTOMER: Wha jew say? No pica la Inglish. MALO: Who the hell is speaking English? Jesus Christ, Im trying to do you a favor . . . an expensive watch . . . cheap . . . cheaper than cheap . . . in fact, its so cheap that if I sell it to you any cheaper, youd be stealing it from me. CUSTOMER: I dont steal. No crook. Goo byy. Lea me alone. MALO: No, I aint saying you steal it. I stole it to sell it to you at a steal. Look, forget about the word steal . . . I mean steal . . . hey, dont go . . . come ere . . . mira, qu belleza . . . look at it, man . . . I aint going to bite you . . . mira, go on see . . . heavy, ah? CUSTOMER: I dont see nothing. MALO: Come a little bit closer. I dont want the police to see me. Look . . . see . . . CUSTOMER: I dont have to get closer. I got 20/20 in both eyes. I see nothing. I dont see a thing. I dont want it. Goo byy. MALO: Wait, wait, look, man, oye, mira . . . es un Bulova . . . BUUU-LUUU-VAAA for sixty dollarssss. CUSTOMER: Buluva for sixty? Are jew kiddin me? I could get it for forty dollars in the store. MALO: You can get a Longine for forty dollars? CUSTOMER: Longine, you said a Bulova. MALO: It is a Bulova. I mean its a Bulova watch with a Logine band. Its what they call a Bulogine. You musta heard the commercials on T.V., you do have a T.V.? If its a Bulogine, its real keen, right? CUSTOMER: Yes, s, s, I got a T.V., everybody has a T.V. MALO: No, because if you dont have one, I can get you a nice T.V. . . . color . . . cheap . . . very nice buy. CUSTOMER: Bulogine, huh? MALO: Okay, dig this: Ill let you have it for sixty dollars, and when you come back for the T.V. CUSTOMER: Sixty dollars? Thirty-five dollars is the most money I can afford. I dont want no T.V. MALO: Thirty-five dollars for a Bulogine . . . what you take me for? CUSTOMER: I take you for nothing, because you are nothing . . . a junkie . . . tecato. MALO: Okay, its true, Im a dope fiend, pero no tengo el bicho de cartn.
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Sideshow CUSTOMER: Thirty-five dollars, thats it, no more, no less . . . maybe less . . . but no more. MALO: Look, man, forty dollars, please . . . if I wasnt sick, you think Id be selling this watch? My wife bought it for me last week. Look, when you come back for the T.V. Ill give it to you cheaper by five . . . no, ten dollars. CUSTOMER: Wait a minute. I dont want no T.V., color or black and white. I dont know where you got that idea from. If you want forty dollars, you dont want to sell the watch to me. Maybe somebody else will pay you sixty or forty dollars, but not me. Thirty-five dollars and thats it . . . take it or leave it. I got to go home. Goo byy. MALO: Okay, okay, you got it. Thirty-five dollars. You drive a hard bargain. Listen, can you throw in a dollar for me to eat? Just a dollar? Please, Im hungry. CUSTOMER: Okay, here. (Walking away.) Qu soqueta. . . thirty-five dollars for a Bulogine. MALO: Thirty-five dollars for a Bulogine . . . some people you can see them coming a mile away . . . a seven-dollar Timex with a famous label. Hi, Im Malo the Merchant. Malo in Spanish means bad, not bad as in bad, but bad as in good. They call me Malo the Merchant because Im good at what I do. Im so good, its terrible. Its bad, thats why Im Malo-bad. Can you dig it? What do I do? You just witnessed me in action. Some of my friends say I can talk the handle off a pot. Ive never tried, but I dont doubt that I can do it. Thats one of the tools of my trade: my tongue and these labels. I got all kinds of labels. The little woman at home hard at work sewing on famous labels on second-hand clothes. After I take them out the cleaners, just like new. Maybe youll like a suit . . . very cheap . . . (Laughs.) . . . yeah . . . I can take a cheaply made T.V. set from some obscure company from a country you never even heard of and give glory with my labels and with my tongue . . . here, take a look at this tongue of mine . . . see it . . . all red with the fire of speech. I could have been a preacher . . . hell-fire and brimstone . . . dont think I aint hip to the mind game . . . turned around collar . . . shit, only thing is my words kept falling out of the Bible . . . and then once I got caught in bed with the preachers wife . . . werent too bad . . . if he hadnt decided to join us . . . three is a crowd. Malo the Merchant . . . I like my
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Miguel Piero own name . . . its got a certain ring to it . . . everybody needs some type of recognition . . . I aint no different than anyone else. I thought of being a dealer one time, but like you really dont make no bread. If you is a small timer, too many people to be paid, too many people come up short. Burglary is climbing too high and as you go up, so can you come down. I hate mugging. First of all, youre taking someones payday check, cause not many mug the big execs. As a merchant I only take what they were goin to waste on beers in some greasy spoon saloon. Then sometimes you hit a drunk that wants to fight and you got to off him or he vomits all over you and you stink so bad aint no pusher wanna sell you a thing. Now, I know, cause you see me greasy as a pork chop you think I stink. Well, this is only an accessory of my trade. I got more veins at home than a little bit . . . got it like the feds . . . everyone likes to deal and wheel. Me, I just wheel the deals. I got something for everybody. Nobody goes away empty-handed when you come and see Malo the Merchant. . . . White boys from the suburbs . . . in a way I am the cause of the states great concern with drugs nowadays. When they came to me, I got it for them . . . never turn one of them down. They came, I gave, they took and they all got hooked, kinda like a poem. Thats when dope became a terrible plague, destroying the youth of our nation. Well, not my nation, their nation, cause for years it had been destroying our nation and no one gave a good fuck about it. Hey, what you wanna git, whitey? Hey, whacha wanna git, Mr. Jones? You wanna nicey girlie to fuckie fuckie? I got two of everything, three of anything and you got to start out with one of nothing so you can end up with something. Someone at sometime has been taken for his poke by the sleight of hand of the Murphy Man or the words some con man spoke. Now, the dope fiends are ruining the name of a hell of a game. When are we gonna yell out no more fucking dope? You are surprised that I, a dope fiend, would make such a distinction between me and my peers? But you see, the time before this there was the time before that and thats where I live, in the time before this. HECTOR: My father said Malo can rap and lie, I mean LIE. My father said Malo should be a politician or a newspaper man, cause he can lie like a book.
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Sideshow CHINA: (Holding a radio.) Hey, listen to this. (Music gets louder. Everybody begins dancing.) LUCKY enters and interrupts the dance. LUCKY: Hey, bitch, wheres my money? SUGAR: What money? LUCKY: My money, bitch, the money youre supposed to be out here hustling. SUGAR: Get the fuck off me. PEOPLE IN CROWD: Wooooooo! Go on, girl! Do it! Tell him about himself, etc. LUCKY: What do you think this is, Disneyland? I want my money! SUGAR: Dont hit me. Who the fuck you think you are? Here Im out on the street hustling to buy you clothes, keep you nice and warm in the house, put the gasoline in the car so that you can drive around with some fine white girl?! Boy you better dig yourself before you be by yourself. LUCKY grabs her, twists her arms. LUCKY: Well talk about that upstairs, bitch. LUCKY bumps into TUTU. TUTU: Why dontcha watch where youre going, man? Pause and silence. LUCKY: Excuse me, bro. LUCKY sends SUGAR to the apartment. CLEARNOSE HENRY: Im Clearnose Henry. Thats what everybody calls me. Clearnose Henry . . . cause I always clear my nose before I blow my mind. Costs me two first presidents to buy me a box of tubes and coin Lincolns to cop my dream brown paper bag. I dont slink around corners under street lamps to score, or hide in some dim-lighted muggers tenement hall for my pusher to appear. That bag is for dope fiends and that scene is a dragpot. Grass is too scarce in these parts and Im scared of scag cause Im scared of needles . . . faint at the sight of one. Thats why I
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Miguel Piero dont watch those doctor shows on T.V. Excuse me a second while I pour my tubes into my dream brown paper bag. Yeah, man, that looks pretty good. Like I was saying, snuff is for old people who like to sit and nod, and LSD or sunshine, those trips they take you on are too far out, speed kills . . . oh, oh, . . . the sleep sand is raining out the bottom of my dream brown paper bag. Im going to do it, aint gonna talk it. CLEARNOSE takes a sniff, then two, then a bunch faster and faster. HE goes into wows, ahhhs, yeahs, wows. LUCKYs apartment. Enter LUCKY pushing SUGAR into the room. LUCKY takes off his belt, strokes it and then whips SUGAR. LUCKY: You like embarrassing me, right? Te gusta? SUGAR: But youre nothin but a dog. LUCKY intensifies beating. LUCKY: Who the fuck you calling a dog, bitch? Why werent you making no money? (LUCKY stops beating SUGAR. HE puts his belt around his neck, he lights a cigarette and exits.) SUGAR is lying on the bed. Her jones is coming down. SHE is in pain, she searches around for her dope. Finding nothing, she falls back on the bed. SUGAR: Mama-Mama-Mama, can you hear me, Mama? Its me, Mama, its your baby, Mama. Papa done hit me again, Mama. He was drunk, Mama. I know he aint my Papa, Mama, but every time youre sleeping he comes into the room, he comes and sits on my bed and feels on my leg, Mama. Mama, he scares me when hes like that, breathing all hard and fast and hot, spit falling on me, him shaking and groaning like an animal. I know, Mama . . . the landlord . . . the food . . . Mama, where are you? I didnt mean for you to die like you did but you told me youd be around when I needed you. Mama, where have you been?
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Sideshow Mama, where have you been? Mama, where have you been? Mama, I need you. I love you. I need you now, Mama. I need you now. I needed you then. And you tell me to wait til tomorrow, tomorrow is here, Mama. Its here and its now yesterday, Mama. Mama, where have you been? Shit, Mama, Im getting sick. Mama, me, your baby, I needs me a fix. Mama, Im a junkie, Mama, A HOPE TO DIE DOPE FIEND. Mama, please, it beginning to hurt. My legs, Mama, they hurt like hell. Mama, someone is crushing them to nothing, into powder, Mama, into powder, Mama, white powder, Mama, like the one I needs, like I needed you, Mama, like when I laid in the bed crying from fear of the many papas that came into my room. Like I needed you, Mama. I needed to put my head between the hollow of your breast, Mama, like the johns need to put their heads between the hollow of my breasts, Mama, and call me Mama. Mama, they call me trickie now cause Ive turned more tricks in one night than you turn in a lifetime. (Screams.) Mama, it getting worse. The monkey is traveling down my back, calling to my mind to feed my veins. Mama, please help me, Mama. Im tired of turning tricks, committing crimes. I wanna kick, I wanna fix. I want you to need me. Mama, I can do it with your help, with your care, your love. Mama, love me like you mean it Mama.
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Miguel Piero The pain open the door. Help me, Mama, please help me, please, please, Mama, I-I-I . . . SHIT, YOU IS DEAD. HECTOR enters the apartment, sits a short distance from SUGAR. HECTOR: I remember her. She used to babysit me. She used to take me to the park. She used to buy me ice cream and candy and all that shit. She was fine, she was nice, but now shes a skank! Now, when she sees me, she asks me for money, cause she knows I work at the A & P. HECTOR leaves the apartment, a siren is heard, LUCKY comes up running across the stage, knocks HECTOR down, yells at him, runs over to CHINA. LUCKY: (To CHINA.) Hold this for me! CHINA: What is it? LUCKY: Just hold it, bitch. Ill be back later. TUTU walks in. HECTORs crying on the floor. TUTU: (To CHINA.) What happened to him? CHINA: Some dude knocked him down. HECTOR: Tutu, Tutu, some man hit me with a baseball bat and kicked me in the stomach and took my money. TUTU: He took all your money? HECTOR: Yeah, 50 cents. Oh, my leg, my leg! TUTU: (To CHINA.) Who knocked him down? CHINA: You know the dude: Lucky the pimp. He gave me some coke and money to hold. TUTU: Some what? CHINA: Some coke and money to hold. TUTU: What are you, crazy, stupid or what? CHINA: No, man, Tutu, I just didnt have time to give it back. I didnt know what it was, anyway. TUTU: Man, shut up. Give me that shit, and when he comes you tell him I got it. TUTU picks up HECTOR.
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Sideshow TUTU: Come on, Hector, Ill buy you an ice cream. TUTU and HECTOR exit. Enters LUCKY, straight to CHINA. LUCKY: Okay, give me my shit. CHINA: Dont you think your shit is where it belongs: up your ass? LUCKY: Come on, I aint got time for your shit. CHINA: I already told you, your shit is where it belongs, up your ass. LUCKY: What, you crazy bitch, you trying to beat me? HECTOR enters, runs by him. HECTOR: You big bully, you maricn, you . . . TUTU enters. TUTU: Excuse me, brother, you got your face on my woman. LUCKY: Your woman gots something of mine. TUTU: (To CHINA.) You got something that belongs to him? CHINA: No. TUTU: See, my woman got nothing of yours. Later. LUCKY grabs TUTU by the arm. TUTU: You got hand problems or something? LUCKY: I told you, your woman gots something that belongs to me. I was running from the cops and I needed someone to dish it on, and your broad was standing there, so I dished it on her. TUTU: You think my woman is dumb? LUCKY: She is dumb. She took the shit. TUTU: Man, I dont want to hear that shit. LUCKY touches TUTU. TUTU: Now, I told you before about your hands. You got a problem, man? LUCKY: Theres no problem. You got something of mine and I want it back. TUTU: Well, there is a problem cause, you see . . . (HE starts laughing.) LUCKY: Whats so funny, man? Let me in on the joke.
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Miguel Piero TUTU: Youre the joke, brotherman, cause you see I got your shit and you aint getting it back. LUCKY: I dont want to hear that shit. TUTU: But youre hearing it. LUCKY: Motherfucker. TUTU: Let me tell you, sucker, dont write a check your ass cant cash. (Pushes him.) Back up and live. LUCKY: Wait a second, brotherman, why fight, lets talk. Were in the same boat. Youre hustling out here, Im hustling out here, you watch my back, Ill watch your back. Theres plenty of space out here for both of us, plenty of money. (HE catches TUTU off guard, hits him in the stomach and jabs him in the back of the neck. HE runs toward CHINA, grabs her by her throat, tears at her clothes.) The crowd yelling: Get up, Tutu, get up. Get him, Tutu, etc. TUTU grabs him and throws him back. HE falls back, LUCKY pulls a knife. TUTU: What are you going to do with that, motherfucker? LUCKY: Im goin to cut you if you get in my way. TUTU: Youre gonna what? LUCKY: You heard me, motherfucker. Im gonna cut your black ass. Get out of my way. TUTU: Go on, cut me, go on, punk, cut me. Motherfucker, you dont even know how to use a knife. Go on, sucker, cut me. Go on, shoot your best. TUTU grabs the knife from LUCKY. LUCKY falls to the floor. The crowd is yelling, Kill that motherfucker. CHINA is yelling, Cut him, Tutu, get him. TUTU has LUCKY on the floor. TUTU: I ought to cut your face for pulling a knife on me. LUCKY: Dont cut my face, dont cut my face. Take my money, but dont cut my face. CLEARNOSE gets too close to the fight. TUTU: Get out of the way, Clearnose, get out of the way. LUCKY jumps and runs into the knife. SUGAR screams and MALO holds her back. The action freezes.
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Sideshow HECTOR: (From the top of the roof.) Everybody wants the king of the mountain to fall. Thats why I dont play that game, because when you fall, you fall hard, and you get stomped with football shoes, and thats why I dont play that game. PANCHO: (Grabbing CISCO by the throat.) Where you think you going, punk. What do you think this is, a game? This aint no play, hustling is for real. Stay here and watch him die. You may never get another chance to see a pimp fall. CISCO: Leave me alone, leave me alone . . . (Runs to the stoop and cries.) NILSA: Hey, blood, you all right, you want to go to the hospital? (SHE goes through his pockets at the same time, taking his shoes and his watch, etc.) MALO: The cop, the cop! Light dims and CLEARNOSE is on the roof. CLEARNOSE: The city is drowning under tons of tubes of glue. Wow, the sky has backed away and the stars are doing the bugaloo blues. The buildings look like giant tubes of glue and the garbage cans hold mountains of jewels sparkling for my eyes to see. Man, J is a prophet. I am Jesus Christ reincarnated, one of the most outasight images Ive pulled from my dream brown paper bag. Can you imagine a world without glue? You gots to have glue, you need it to hold the world together . . . and its storebought. I better keep my imagination open for the cops. They found out I was with Frankie. He was my gluehead partner. We used to paste the world together up on the roofs, in the school toilets, in the subway trains. Oh, yeah, I was with him when he jumped into the tracks. Thats the day the A-train became the B, dig it, B for blood. Wow, dont you git it? Its a heavy joke. I mean, like the dude was all over the place: head one way, arms another, leg on the platform, a very untogether person. Man, like it aint like I pushed him into the tracks. Like I dont know what they want me for . . . you know like . . . you know what I mean, you know? Right, take me a short visit into my dream brown paper bag. Yeah, thats cool. Losing much of its power now. Oh, I wish everybody would stop saying how much they care and love. Lights dim while CLEARNOSE mumbles.
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Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks

The people in the play: MARIO OR MARA (a transvestite, big broad, muscular, midtwenties. Plenty of energy . . . perpetually on the border of violent insanity) JULIO (a man in his mid or late forties, still in good health, but after all the pain he has endured, is looking for rest. He has seen and experienced too much in his life to be upset about real problems, yet he takes joy in small things) MIKE POOR (a man in his mid thirties, self-educated, poet-writer, coming to grips with his drug use, his life and the events that produce emotional dramas in his life) MELE POOR (a woman in her late twenties, highly educated and self-assured, independent, with adolescent emotions that lead to tantrums and outbursts) The other people in the play will appear as shadowy figures or voices. The Time: Now The Place: An apartment in any of Americas large innercity tenement buildings sheltering second, third and fourth generations of families who sailed onto these shores in search of the American Dream. These are the men and women that took sleeping pills hoping that they could, would and should have achieved the goal that they all set out for, but they overslept. The Season: Early winter and the holiday spirit is not as joyful as it was back in Dayton, Ohio, in 1903.
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Miguel Piero MARA: Oye, mira, cabrn . . . en English, mi amor, you fuck. Esto es un culo y yo cargo conmigo el cuerpo de una mujer que est muy bellaca . . . JULIO: Ests bellaco. MARA: Tu madre. JULIO: La tuya que es mi comadre. MARA: Pues, mira, hijo de la gran yegua, a ti te gusta como soy. JULIO: Nunca he dicho lo contrario. MARA: Y t sabe lo que soy. JULIO: Siempre. MARA: A m se me va la sangre como a otra cualquiera y me caliento y t no haces ningn esfuerzo para ponerme fra. JULIO: Djate de esa caca ya. MARA: La caca est en tu boca y te la est comiendo. JULIO: Mira, tragadaga . . . MARA: Tragadaga soy, pero cmo te gusta el culo. JULIO: A m me encanta. MARA: Por eso est conmigo y no con tu mujer. JULIO: Lo sabes t. MARA: Y tambin s que t eres un maricn escondido, undercover homo. JULIO: Mira, ten cuidado con tu lengua cabrona o te vas a tragar los dientes. MARA: Atrvete. JULIO: Sigue con tus mierditas. MARA: Para que te las comas. JULIO: Dame mis fucking bolsas. MARA: All s que te jodistes, porque me las met. JULIO: Y cuntos han muerto en tu espalda? MARA: Mil doscientos, pero no lo niego ni me abochorno. Me encuentro orgullosa de ser lo que soy y no como t, siendo to que no soy . . . pero t sabe la cancin, te conozco bacalao aunque vengas disfrasao . . . JULIO: (Picks up his guitar and sings to her.) Quin te ha dicho que por falta de tus besos voy a ser un desgraciado por tu amor yo s la historia de tu vida
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Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks por eso me quedo con mis amigos en esta prisin t te hicistes puta de los presos y regalastes por cigarillo tu querer y ahora lleg el da triste de tu vida enfrente de las celdas en tus rodillas mamando bicho te vers mamando bicho es la vida que siempre vivirs MARA: T sabe qu t puedes hacer con esa cancin? . . . rbala y mndala por correo de primera clase a la ms vieja de tu casa. Oye, no s qu yo hago con un hombre que no se le para la moronga. T no tienes morcilla, lo que hay es salchicha. JULIO: Cuando yo te conoc estaba seguro que mi vida contigo iba a ser como caf colao, pero you turn out to be instant coffee . . . y pullao tambin . . . pero ahora veo que t no haces amor . . . t chichas por ver la leche correr. MARA: Si hay un carajo, all te encuentro. JULIO: S, conmigo encima y t abajo. MARA: Alguin est llmandonos. JULIO: Qu es? Me cago en diez. MARA: Y yo en once y doce y trece. VOICE: Hey, lady, if you need any help or if you want me to call the cops . . . I heard him threaten you and I can hear the fight from down here. MARA: What? JULIO: Qu es lo que dice? MARA: Es el cocolo de abajo ms entrometo y bochinchoso que una mujer pre . . . quiere llamar a la polica por m. JULIO: Mira, ese cabrn hijo e puta MARA: Hey, why dont you mind your own fucking business, buster? VOICE: I thought you . . . that you might need help, thats all, lady. MARA: This is my fucking husband, you nosey bastard, and I dont need anyone coming into our fucking life, you sucker dickhead bubble-lip nigger. JULIO: Tanto para ese mamao? MARA: Go jerk off on a magazine, jerkoff.
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Miguel Piero JULIO: If we needed anything, it be a cold day in hell before we asked you, fool. VOICE: Boy, some people you just cant offer any help at all, especially those no speaka the English bastards. MIKE: (From apartment next door.) Those no speaka the English are having a marriage fight and they didnt ask for your intervention. VOICE: All I was doing was trying the good neighbor policy. MARA: That you, Mike? Hey, Mister, try the good neighbor policy on your daughter, the one thats been trying to fuck my husband after she gets out of school. VOICE: What? My daughter? MARA: Thats right, your daughter. I guess this good neighbor shit goes a long way in your family, cause if you aint trying to rap to me when your wife is out and you know my husband isnt here, you always got some excuse to try and come here. MIKE: He really takes that super job to heart. MELE: He sure does. He tries that with me too. JULIO: I think that his son goes the same way too. Those are pretty tight jeans he always wearing and he either got a broken wrist or his rings are very heavy . . . VOICE: Look I only . . . MARA: Well, forget it, buster. VOICE: I will. Cherrie, whats this about you seeing that man upstairs after school? Is that true? Wheres that homo brother of yours? MARA: A ese, yo no lo conozco. Por qu la gente siempre tiene que meterse en cosas de matrimonio? JULIO: Qu estaba diciendo Mike? MARA: Oh, he was getting on the super too. JULIO: Maybe we do make a lot of racket when we fight, eh? MARA: Maybe we make a lot of racket when we make love. JULIO: Yo crea que you didnt get enough undercover y todo eso. MARA: Bueno, la cancin que me cantaste wasnt exactly greatly accepted. JULIO: Just kidding around, thats all. You know that I love you, baby. MARA: I love you, baby, and its quite all right. I need you, baby, to walk these lonely nights. Oh, pretty baby, trust in me when I say, my pretty baby, dont put me down this way. (Singing alone, then joined in by JULIO in a duet a la Frankie Valle.)
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Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks Lights go out on them as the recorded song comes on stronger and their singing grows with the volume of the song. Lights on. The scene has shifted to MIKE and MELEs apartment. MELE: You know what some dickhead asshole did? MIKE: What? MELE: Check this out MIKE: What? MELE: Someone . . . at least one of your friends . . . put a fifteen-fuse plug in a twenty-watt slot. Man, that is a dumb jackass, dumb. MIKE: Heehaw! MELE: Figures. MIKE: Well, start kicking ass. MELE: Dont have to . . . as soon as you can find a way to get your foot out of your mouth. . . the one you hid in there yesterday . . . youll find a means to do it yourself. I have grown to have blind faith in your abilities to succeed in doing little feats like that. MIKE: Yeah, Im a great fan of ex-President Ford. MELE: Well, at least you can chew gum and walk at the same time, though how you accomplish that is one up on me. MIKE: Thats white California humor, right? MELE: Oh, oh, oh, tee, tee, hee, ha, ha. (Yawns.) MIKE: (A la Billy Joel singing Its My Life.) I never said I was a comedian, I never said I needed a second chance, cause Im a victim of circumstance. . . dont get me wrong, I still belong. . . MELE: Not to the human race. MIKE: I dont? MELE: No, more to a society of successful succulent sordid sadistical sabotage suckers . . . MIKE: Hey, speaking of Billy Joel, did I read you the new paragraph on the story Ive been working on? MELE: No, but I get a feeling that you are going to. MIKE: Well, if you dont wanna hear it, thats all right with me. MELE: Good, Im glad that you didnt take it personal. MIKE: Anyway, this is the one, you read the other thing, right? MELE: Right . . . right . . . right . . . go ahead if youre gonna torture me. Might as well get it over with fast and as painless as possible. MIKE: (Reading from his notes.) Here we go. Billy Joels voice declared war on the silences in the single-rented room that shel183

Miguel Piero tered David Dancers factory-tired body during those hours that did not require him to breath the indecency of those alien fumes. The radio blared out Joels song. The sound was a total contrast to the belching buses creeping outside Davids window. David wished he had it inside himself to capture all the sounds that invade his privacy. They painted a picture that only a Michelangelo could create: the comedy of young kids playing, the roar of teenage souped-up cars, the exploding booms of fathers and mothers over their childrens sloppiness and dirt catching magnetism, the pre-teens with radios that competed with them in size and weight, screeching out the disco poetry of the Sugar Hill Gang. Billy Carter would feel at home in Central Harlem on a Sunday afternoon. Davids needle-scarred arm rested on the window sill. The late spring air stirred in his hair. His eyes at half-mast, his train of thought occasionally interrupted by the chemical agents he had smuggled into his biological system via a hypodermic that carried the illegal substance. He smiled at his own thoughts, knowing he could never hold a nightwatchmans job. Staying alert in his own home was a chore in itself. (A knock on the door interrupts the reading.) See who it is. If its youknow-who, I aint here. MELE: Who. . . yeah, wait a second. Mike, where you put the new sets? MIKE: Here. MELE: Two for five dollars . . . see you later . . . here, all he had was four seventy-five . . . gave him a play on a quarters. MIKE: It comes out of your profit. MELE: Thats all right, it all goes into the same pot. Keep on with the reading. I must say, it is a little interesting. MIKE: Naw, Ill run the rest to you later. The bastard broke off my concentration. MELE: Well, youre the one who wanted to invest in that box of works. MIKE: Yeah, but it is a dollar, and a good one at that. MELE: I know, but there are side effects with it, you know. Like people knowing that we are selling works and they be knocking at the door at all odd hours of the day, even when were taking care of personal biological affairs.
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Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks MIKE: Yeah . . . 30 dollars for a hundred of them sets, at three dollars a set, we make more than a 100 percent profit. So for that, I guess we have to put up with little inconveniences now and then . . . anyway, its better than running a shooting gallery. MELE: Telling me . . . shit, Id never venture into a deal like that again, like we did last year in Harlem . . . that was total shit. MIKE: We did make good money on it though, didnt we? MELE: Yeah, but remember all the shit that went along with it? MIKE: How the hell can I forget? When I rented that space on 112th Street, I didnt think it would almost cause my demise. MELE: Are you going to write that into the David Dancer story? MIKE: I dont know . . . never gave it that much of a thought. MELE: Maybe you should give it a thought. I mean it, no joke. Here, use my tape recorder. Tape it down, then transfer it over and find a way to incorporate it in what you already have. (HE turns it on and her voice comes on.) MIKE: Whats that? MELE: Oh, something I been working on. MIKE: You never told me you were working on a song. MELE: Aw, well, its not finished yet. MIKE: Play it. Let me hear it. MELE: When its finished, Ill do it for you. MIKE: Aww, come on, do it now, just what you have. MELE: Naw, really, naw. MIKE: Awww, you want to be petted into it. All right, please. Im your biggest fan and I need to hear your latest song. If you dont, oh, Ill just die. Oh, please, pretty, pretty please with sugar on top . . . and honey on the side. MELE: All right, you twisted my arm. MIKE: Twisted your heads more like it. MELE: Its a thing on Coltrane. Coltrane blows a song for the poets to dream a cocaine dream is the song that Coltrane brings to me Coltrane brings a dream with every note a dream of reality
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Miguel Piero drifting into illusions with every snort blues were issued to create Coltrane was born to create cocaine was used to deteriorate Coltrane blows cocaine dreams for me. MIKE: Thats pretty nice and it aint finished yet, huh? I know what. We can send your song in as a poem and get it published with my story and thatll get us some extra cash, cause I got a deadline on the David Dancer thing and thats gonna pay the bills and the rent. Did Richie say he was coming over today? MELE: No, tomorrow. He left you a note when you were sleeping. He didnt want to wake you up. He said to tell you that hell only be able to bring in a quarter of a pound instead of the half he promised. Here is the note he left you. MIKE: Hmmm, well, it beats a blank and its up front on consignment. MELE: Hey, like you said, it beats a blank and you dont have to run no bread upfront. MIKE: Thats why I invested in them works, you know. Its like having ready money. If you got smoke, you got money rolled up. A few shoot to forty-two and your pockets will no longer cry the blues. MELE: You hear that shit on the T.V.? MIKE: What was that? MELE: Well, after the crime and the political slime had been reported, the six oclock news ended with a cute remark about being National Secretarys Week. MIKE: Get her off your lap and take her to lunch in between her coffee breaks, if you can get her out of the restroom. MELE: Yeah, then you heard it? MIKE: No, I didnt. MELE: You did so. MIKE: No, really, I didnt. MELE: Then, how you know what they said? MIKE: They really said that? MELE: Yeah, you know it, you heard it. MIKE: I didnt. Its just thats what I said kidding around just to think of something stupid to say.
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Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks MELE: Well, thats what they said and they didnt think it was stupid. They acted like they said something intelligent. Assholes. MIKE: The right-to-know first ammendment, like Mr. Friendly said, protect it from those who would destroy it and from those who love it too much. (Searching through a box of clothes.) These clothes that we bought on Orchard Street are full of birth defects. MELE: Whats wrong with them? MIKE: Well, let me see. Here we have a pair of paraplegic pants, a mongoloid sweater . . . siamese socks . . . armless shirts . . . club foot sneakers . . . MELE: A de luxe demented malnutrition mind vomiting humorless antagonizing anecdotes by an anthropoid with anthropomorphic qualities. MIKE: Who the hell you studied with, Spiro Agnew? MELE: I wish there was an antibiotic I could transmit into this inebriated android that would serve as an antidote to your ill usage of the English language to describe your pell mell state of existence. MIKE: It had to be Spiro Agnew. MELE: But since God has chosen for your quest to be that of a penguin, a bird that cant fly . . . and its obvious that any penicillin will be penalized and impounded within the penitentiary . . . the peninsula . . . the puny peninsula that boasts your penury brain . . . so any illusion that I may have about your penance is truly a romantic passion I possess for the peon named Mike Poor. MIKE: Jesus H. Christ. MELE: In other words, youre a big mouth with bad taste and bad breath. Lights out. When the lights are brought up the scene has shifted to an apartment that has been turned into a shooting gallery. There are signs on the wall indicating that such a business exists there: 2.00 dollarsdos pesos 1.50 if you have your own work Clean your workslimpien sus aparatos Brand new gymics set 3.00 Keep the place clean
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Miguel Piero 5.00 to hit in the neck 1.00 for a hit Dont give money to anyone elsehouseman collects all bread Cigarettes .10 cents No horseplaying aroundno loud talking When you finish, please leaveno hanging out FLACO: Hey, man, those signs really necessary? SOCIO: S, bro, they are very, really necessary. FLACO: They are, huh? SOCIO: Yeah, man, just like the reason I carry the shit paper with me. How is it? Who you cop from? FLACO: Its half ass. I mean I feel it, but its nothing that I would write home about, know what I mean? Its from the Blue Club. They had something nice, but you know how that game goes. SOCIO: The blue club? They had something half ass? Like they had a thing that was smoking . . . knock you on your fucking ass. Man, but then, barn, milk sugar . . . pero qu vas a hacer? You know, man, you go out, tell these assholes that they have something worth ten dollars and the next thing you know is that they get big fucking ideas . . . more money and, wip wop wop, its shit, its out of range. FLACO: Man, like Ive been on the fucking program a month and clean. Then I get detoxed and zip, Im out here again chasing the dirty low down, doggin it again, know what I mean? SOCIO: Me lo dice o te lo cuento, mi hermano, man? Mira, bro . . . I used to run Pepe Venenos spots here on the avenue. You know, that used to be a smoker, right? Well, man, we ran this thing like a Marine Corps platoon, t sabe . . . hup one two three, put your hands in your pockets, pull out the green . . . FLACO: Vaya! Tiene alcohol, bro? SOCIO: No . . . that waters clean, man . . . lets conserve, t sabe. FLACO: So, what happen, man? SOCIO: Oh, s, yeah, like you know, man, the shit what we had was dynamite, but none of the workers would tell him that. I mean, we test it for him . . . then get some one off the streets, and they do it too. Man, thats where we blew, or better to say, thats where the dope fiends blew . . . they started telling him how good the shit
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Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks was and the next hing you know, the mother starts Bruce Leeing the shit to death . . . put more cuts on it than Frankenstein! SOCIO: Hear that? FLACO: What? SOCIO: That tap tap tapping shit. FLACO: Yeah, whats that? SOCIO: Thats that dude downstairs. Day in night out the chump stay on that fucking typewriter . . . banging away. I think hes writing a book or something. I rapped with him once. Guys from L.A. FLACO: Is it electric? I know a dude looking for one. SOCIO: Yeah, I think so, but, man, let me tell you something . . . I once did a job in this guys place, right, and I stole his T.V., radio, tape recorder, everything but the kitchen sink, and I got away with the shit . . . but a week later I was in jail. The chump-ass nigger tracked me down because I took his typewriter. I mean, he didnt care about the other stuff, but the dude was a writer and that was his bread and butter, man. Since then I cool it. I mean, I wont rip off anything religious or mess around with some artist things, man. Them dudes are weird. Most of them are out to lunch, you know what I mean? FLACO: Yeah, them type of people who tell their wives, hey, man, Im going out for a pack of cigarettes and you dont hear from the suckers for twenty years. SOCIO: You finished, man? FLACO: Yeah, man, here. SOCIO: No, man, you clean them. FLACO: So, you dont think its cool to try and make the place downstairs? SOCIO: For me, no. For you, hey, its your world. FLACO: Yeah, but we kinda live in the same space, you know, and if you wont eat the fruit, man, I sure aint . . . Knock on door. SOCIO: Customers . . . see you later, man. FLACO: Yeah, be back about midnight. SOCIO: But this time leave the cotton wet. FLACO: And two dollars too . . . yeah, well, if theres enough. SOCIO: Therell be enough.
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Miguel Piero Lights. Return to MIKE and MELEs apartment when lights come up again. MIKE: Just about finished with this piece for Pat . . . he keeps calling from L.A. MELE: Man must want the thing cause it costs money to use the phone, baby. MIKE: You know what I would like . . . to get into every apartment here and be like a fly on the wall and be able to do a story about everything that jumps in this building . . . I mean the whole trip. MELE: Another get rich quick scheme, man? They all turn out bust to you. MIKE: Thats for you, not to you. MELE: To you, for you, who the hell cares . . . they all stink. Look, why dont you face facts? MIKE: Like, what facts are you talking about? MELE: Like the fact that you put our money into this bullshit drug paraphernalia and it could get us busted and there goes your career down the drain? MIKE: If I get busted, Im sure Pat would find a way to make it sensational. MELE: Well, one thing, he aint gonna do anything unless you send him that damn piece. MIKE: Yeah . . . you wanna go back to L.A., right? MELE: Yeah, baby, I do, but look, the Bible said Where thou goes I too shall go and your people shall be my people and your God shall be my God. MIKE: Cut it out . . . maybe well sell it all to the dude upstairs. He runs that gallery. You know, I kinda miss L.A., even if the city is three hours behind the times. MELE: Bullshit. MIKE: What am I going to write about? MELE: Why ask me? Im not the writer, you are. MIKE: Yeah, I am, aint I? Phone rings. MIKE: Hello. Hey, Pat, hows things? Yeah, Im thinking of writing a story about the building where I live, but I cant seem to touch on anything. But I got a good idea, see, if we can do it so that we can
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Tap Dancing and Bruce Lee Kicks peek into the lives of the people here. . . . Oh, thats been done before? Well, I . . . ah, listen, if you can send me and Mele some bread so that we can go out back to the coast . . . no, by bus. MELE: Bus? You crazy? MIKE: Shhh . . . yeah, Ill write about traveling out to the coast . . . the people, of course. I cant seem to get a grip on things here. Yeah, man, Western Union. MELE: Bus? Are you crazy? MIKE keeps typing with MELE ranting at him. Lights.

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Short Eyes
The people: JUAN (a Puerto Rican in his early thirties) CUPCAKES (a Puerto Rican pretty boy of twenty-one who looks younger) PACO (a Puerto Rican in his early thirties with the look of a dope fiend) ICE (a black man in his late twenties who looks older) OMAR (a black amateur boxer in his mid-twenties, virile) EL RAHEEM (a black man in his mid-twenties with a regal look and militant bearing) LONGSHOE (a hip, tough Irishman in his mid-twenties) CLARK DAVIS (a handsome, frightened white man in his early twenties) MR. NETT (an old-line white prison guard in his late forties) CAPTAIN ALLARD (officer in House of Detention. Straight and gung-ho) MR. BROWN (an officer in the House of Detention) SERGEANT MORRISON (another officer) BLANCA and GYPSY (walk-on, nonspeaking parts)

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Miguel Piero The entire play takes place in the dayroom on one of the floors in the House of Detention. ACT I: Early morning, lock-in after breakfast ACT II: Same day at 3:00 p.m. EPILOGUE: Same evening ACT I Dayroom in the House of Detention. Upstage right is entrance gate. Upstage left is gate leading to shower room and slop sink. Upstage center is a toilet and drinking fountain. Above is a catwalk. Stage left is a table and chairs. Downstage right is a garbage can. Upstage right is a T.V. set on a stand. Early-morning lock-in after the morning meal. Early morning light. Inmates voices can be heard: various ad-libs, calling out to each other, asking questions, exchanging prison gossip, etc.

MORRISON: All right, listen up . . . I said listen up. (Whistle.) When I call your names, give me your cell location. (Catcalls.) Off the fucking noise. Now if I have to call out your name more than once, pray, cause your soul may belong to God, but your ass is mine. (More catcalls. House lights go out.) Williams, D. VOICE RESPONSE: Upper D 14. MORRISON: Homer, J. VOICE RESPONSE: Lower D 7. MORRISON: Stone, F. VOICE RESPONSE: Lower D 5. MORRISON: Miller, G. VOICE RESPONSE: Upper D . MORRISON: Lockout for criminal court. (Whistle.) A side dayroom. All right, already . . . knock it off! Supreme Court. (Whistle.) Johnson. INMATE VOICE: Who? MORRISON: Johnson. TWO INMATE VOICES: Who? MORRISON: Johnson.
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Short Eyes A LOT OF VOICES: Who? . . . who? . . . who? . . . who? MORRISON: Aw, come on, fellas, give me a break. INMATE VOICE: Your brains may belong to the state, but your sanity belongs to me. INMATE VOICE: Aw, come on, fellas, give the fella a break. INMATE VOICE: Break . . . (Bronx cheer.) MORRISON: Johnson. INMATE VOICE: Upper D 15. MORRISON: Corree-a. INMATE VOICE: Cant you say my name right? (Giving proper pronunciation.) Correa . . . Correa . . . Correa. MORRISON: You guys go to the C side dayroom (Whistle.) Sing Sing reception center. Gomez A. VOICE RESPONSE: Lower D 9. MORRISON: Shit-can-do. (Catcalls.) VOICE RESPONSE: Scicando . . . Lower D 11. MORRISON: Bring all your personal belongings and go to the B side dayroom. (Catcalls.) All right, you guys want to play games, you guys dont let up that noise, you guys aint locking out this morning. INMATE VOICE: You got it. (Ad-libs continue until OMAR speaks.) ICE: Fuck you, sucker. (Silence. Sound of prison gate opening is heard.) MORRISON: (Whistledayroom lights come on.) All right, on the lockout. (Enter OMAR, LONGSHOE, EL RAHEEM, PACO and ICE. Each runs toward his respective position. Ad-libs. Then JUAN walks slowly toward his position. CUPCAKES is the last to come in. The MEN accompany him with simple scat singing to the tune of The Stripper. Ad-libs.)

JUAN: Why dont you cut that loose? Man, dont you think that kid get tired of hearing that every morning? PACO: Oh, man, we just jiving. ICE: Hey, Cupcake, you aint got no plexes behind that, do you? CUPCAKES: I mean . . . like no . . . but . . . PACO: You see, Juan, Cupcake dont mind. CUPCAKES: No, really, Juan. Like I dont mind. . . . But that doesnt mean that I like to listen to it. I mean . . . like . . . hey . . . I call
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Miguel Piero you guys by your name. Why dont you call me by mine? My name aint Cupcakes, its Julio. EL RAHEEM: If you would acknowledge that you are God, your name wouldnt be Cupcakes or Julio or anything else. You would be Dahoo. LONGSHOE: Already! Cant you spare us that shit early in the a.m.? EL RAHEEM: No . . . one . . . is . . . talking . . . to . . . you, Yacoub. LONGSHOE: The name is Longshoe Charlie Murphy . . . Mister Murphy to you. EL RAHEEM: Yacoub . . . maker and creator of the devil . . . swine merchant. Your time is near at hand. Fuck around and your time will be now. Soon all devils heads will roll and now rivers shall flow through the citycreated by the blood of Whitey . . . Devil . . . beast. OMAR: Salaam Alaikum. PACO: Salami with bacon. ICE: Power to the people. LONGSHOE: Free the Watergate 500. JUAN: Palante. CUPCAKES: Tippecanoe and Tyler too. PACO: (On table, overly feminine.) A la lucha . . . a la lucha . . . que somo mucha . . . OMAR: Hey! Hey . . . you know the Panthers say Power to the people. MR. NeTT: On the gate. OMAR: (Strong voice.) Power to the people. And gay liberators say . . . (High voice, limp wrist in fist.) Power to the people. (Enter NETT.) MR. NETT: How about police power? JUAN: How about it? Oink, oink. MR. NETT: Wise guy. Paco, you got a counsel visit. PACO: Vaya. OMAR: Mr. Nett? MR. NETT: Yeah, what is it? OMAR: Mr. Nett, you know like Ive been here over ten months and Id like to know why I cant get on the help. Like Ive asked a dozen times . . . and guys that just come in are shot over me . . . and I get shot down. . . . Like why? Have I done something to you? Is there something about me that you dont like?
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Short Eyes MR. NETT: Why, no. I dont have anything against you. But since you ask me, Ill tell you. One is that when you first came in here you had the clap. OMAR: But I dont have it anymore. That was ten months ago. MR. NETT: How many fights have you had since the first day you came on the floor? OMAR: But I havent had a fight in a long time. MR. NETT: How many? OMAR: Seven. MR. NETT: Seven? Close to ten would be my estimation. No, if I put you on the help, there would be trouble in no time. Now, if you give me your word that you wont fight and stay cool, Ill give it some deep consideration. OMAR: I cant give you my word on something like that. You know I dont stand for no lame coming out the side of his neck with me. Not my word . . . my word is bond. EL RAHEEM: Bond is life. OMAR: Thats why I cant give you my word. My word is my bond. Man in prison aint got nothing but his word, and hes got to be careful who and how and for what he give it for. But Ill tell you this, Ill try to be cool. MR. NETT: Well, youre honest about it anyway. Ill think it over. (PACO and MR. NETT exit.) EL RAHEEM: Try is a failure. OMAR: Fuck you. EL RAHEEM: Try is a failure. Do. OMAR: Fuck you. EL RAHEEM: Fuck yourself, its cheaper. CUPCAKES: Hey, Mr. Nett, put on the power. MR. NETT: (From outside the gate.) The power is on. CUPCAKES: The box aint on. MR. NETT: Might be broken. Ill call the repairman. JUAN: Might as well listen to the radio. ICE: The radio aint workin either, Juan. I tried to get BLS a little while ago and got nothin but static, Jack. CUPCAKES: Anyone wants to play Dirty Hearts? I aint got no money, but Ill have cigarettes later on this week. OMAR: Money on the wood makes bettin good. ICE: Right on. (LONGSHOE gives CUPCAKES cigarettes.)
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JUAN: Hey, Julio. (Throws CUPCAKES cigarettes. BROWN appears outside entrance gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (Gate opens and PACO enters. Gate closes and BROWN exits.) CUPCAKES: Shit. That was a real fast visit. PACO: Not fast enough. LONGSHOE: What the man say about your case? PACO: The bitch wants me to cop out to a Dshe must think my dick is made of sponge rubber. I told her to tell the D.A. to rub the offer on his chest. Not to come to court on my behalf. Shit, the bitch must have made a deal with the D.A. on one of her paying customers. Man, if I wait I could get a misdemeanor by my motherfucking self. What the fuck I need with a Legal Aid? Guess whos on the bench? ICE: Who they got out there? PACO: Cop-out Levine. ICE: Wow! He give me a pound for a frown. PACO: First they give me a student, and now a double-crossin bitch. LONGSHOE: We all got to make a living. PACO: On my expense? No fucking good. EL RAHEEM: You still expect the white man to give you a fair trial in his court? Dont you know what justice really means? Justice . . . just us . . . white folks. PACO: Look here, man. I dont expect nothing from nobody especially the Yankees. Man, this aint my first time before them people behind these walls, cause I aint got the money for bail. And you can bet that it wont be my last time . . . not as long as Im poor and Puerto Rican. CUPCAKES: Come on, lets play . . . for push-ups. JUAN: How many? CUPCAKES: Ten if you got just one book, fifteen if you got two. PACO: I aint playing for no goddamn push-ups. ICE: Hey, come on, dont be like that. PACO: Said aint playing for no push-ups. Tell you what, lets play for coochie-coochies. ICE: What the hell is coochie-coochies? JUAN: Its a game they play in Puerto Rico. You ever see a flick about Hawaii? Them girls with the grass skirts moving their butts dancing? Thats coochie-coochies.
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Short Eyes ICE: I thought that was the hula, Jack. PACO: Put your shirt on your hips like this and move your ass. Coochie-coochie-coochie . . . CUPCAKES: Thats out. PACO: You got a plexes? CUPCAKES: Told you before that I dont have no complexes. JUAN: You got no plexes at all? CUPCAKES: No. JUAN: Then why not let me fuck you? CUPCAKES: Thats definitely out. JUAN: People without complexes might as well turn stuff. OMAR: Thinking of joining the ranks? Cruising the tearooms? EL RAHEEM: What kind of black original man talk is that? Cupcakes put the wisdom before the knowledge because thats his nature. He cant help that. But you are deliberately acting and thinking out of your nature . . . thinking like the white devil, Yacoub. Your presence infects the minds of my people like a fever. You, Yacoub, are the bearer of three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine diseases . . . corrupt . . . evil . . . pork-chop-eating brain . . . LONGSHOE: Look. EL RAHEEM: Where? LONGSHOE: Im sick and . . . EL RAHEEM: See, brothers, he admits he is sick with corruption. LONGSHOE: Who? EL RAHEEM: Youre not only the devil, youre also an owl? LONGSHOE: Why? EL RAHEEM: Y? Why? Why is Y the twenty-fifth letter of the alphabet? LONGSHOE: You . . . son of . . . EL RAHEEM: You . . . me . . . they . . . them. This . . . those . . . that . . . U for the unknown. LONGSHOE: I . . . I . . . EL RAHEEM: Eye . . . I . . . Aye . . . Aye . . . Aiiii . . . hi . . . LONGSHOE: Games, huh? EL RAHEEM: The way of life is no game. Lame. LONGSHOE: G . . . O . . . D . . . D . . . O . . . G . . . God spelled backward is dog . . . dog spelled backward is God. If Allah, is God, Allah is a dog.
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EL RAHEEM: Allah Akbar. (Screams, jumps on him.) Allah Akbar. (MR. NETT and BROWN appear outside entrance gate.) MR. NETT: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate. MR. NETT and BROWN enter. MR. NETT breaks them apart.) MR. NETT: What the hell is going on here? OMAR: Mr. Nett, let these two git it off, else wes gonna have mucho static around here. ICE: Yeah . . . Mr. Nett . . . they got a personality thing going on for weeks. MR. NETT: Fair fight, Murphy? LONGSHOE: Thats what I want. MR. NETT: Johnson? EL RAHEEM: El Raheem. Johnson is a slave name. (Nods.) May your Christian God have mercy on your soul, Yacoub. (BROWN closes gate. EL RAHEEM and LONGSHOE square off and begin boxing . . . some wrestling. EL RAHEEM is knocked clean across the room.) LONGSHOE: Guess you say that left hook is Whitey trickology? EL RAHEEM: No, honky, you knocked me down. My sister hits harder than that. Shes only eight. (They wrestle until EL RAHEEM is on top. Then NETT breaks them apart.) OMAR: Why didnt you break it up while Whitey was on top? MR. NETT: Listen, why dont you two guys call it quits? Aint none of you really gonna end up the winner. Give it up . . . be friends . . . shake hands . . . Come, break it up, you both got your shit off . . . break it up. Go out and clean yourselves up. Make this the last time I see either of you fighting. On the gate. Next time I turn on the water. (BROWN and NETT exit, gate closes. The RICANS go to their table and begin to play on the table as if it were bongos.) ICE: You two got it together. EL RAHEEM: I am God . . . master and ruler of my universe . . . I am always together. OMAR: Let me ask you one question, God. EL RAHEEM: You have permission to ask two. OMAR: Thank you. If youre God, why are you in jail? God can do anything, right? Melt these walls down, then create a stairway of light to the streets below . . . God. If youre God, then you can do these things. If you cant, tell me why God cant do a simple thing like that.
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Short Eyes EL RAHEEM: I am God . . . I am a poor righteous teacher of almighty Allah and by his will I am here to awaken the original lost in these prisons. . . . Black original man is asleep. This is your school of self-awareness. Wake up, black man, melt these walls? You ask me, a tangible god, to do an intangible feat? Mysterious intangible gods do mysterious intangible deeds. There is nothing mysterious about me. Tangible gods do tangible deeds. (PUERTO RICAN GROUP goes back to playing. Toca si va tocar.) CUPCAKES: (On table, M.C.-style.) Thats right, ladies and gentlemen . . . damas y caballeros . . . every night is Latin night at the House of Detention. Tonight for the first time . . . direct from his record-breaking counsel visit . . . on congas is Paco Pasqual . . . yeaaaaaah. With a all-star band . . . for your listening enjoyment . . . Juan Bobo Otero on timbales. . . . On mouth organ Charles Murphy . . . To show you the latest dancing are Iceman, John Wicker . . . and his equally talented partner, Omar Blinker . . . yeaaaaaah. While tapping his toes for you all . . . moving his head to the rhythm of the band is the mighty El Raheem, yeaaaaaaah. Boooooooo. Yes, brothers and sisters, especially you, sisters, dont miss this musical extravaganza. Ill be there, too . . . to say hello to all my friends. . . . So be there. Dont be the one to say Gee, I missed it. . . . This is your cha-cha jockey, Julio. ALL: Cupcakes . . . CUPCAKES: Mercado . . . be sure to be there . . . catch this act, this show of shows before they leave on a long-extended touring engagement with state. . . . (PACO pinches CUPCAKESs ass.) Keep your hands off my ass, man. (CUPCAKES moves stage left, sits pouting. Ad-libs.) PACO: Hey, kid, do one of those prison toasts. . . . (They urge him on with various ad-libs.) CUPCAKES: All right, dig . . . You guys gotta give me background. . . . Clap your hands and say . . . Mambo tu le pop. . . . It was the night before Christmas . . . and all through the pad . . . cocaine and heroin was all the cats had. One cat in the corner . . . copping a nod . . . Another scratching thought he was God. I jumps on the phone . . . and dial with care . . . hoping my reefer . . . would soon be there. After a while . . . crowding my style . . . I ran to the door . . . see whats the matter . . . and to my surprise . . . I saw five police badges staring . . . glaring in my eyes. A couple of studs . . .
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Miguel Piero starts to get tough, so I ran to the bathroom . . . get rid of the stuff . . . narc bang . . . bang . . . but they banged in vain . . . cause, you see, . . . what didnt go in my veins went down the drain. Broke down the door . . . knock me to the floor . . . and took me away, thats the way I spent my last Christmas day . . . like a dirty dog . . . in a dark and dingy cell . . . but I didnt care cause I was high as hell. But I was cool . . . I was cool . . . I was cool. You people are the fools . . . cream of the top . . . cause I got you say something as stupid as Mambo tu le pop. (GROUP chases CUPCAKES around stage. BROWN and CLARK DAVIS appear outside entrance gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (Gate opens and CLARK DAVIS enters, goes to stage center. BROWN closes gate and exits.) CUPCAKES: Hey, Longshoe . . . one of your kin . . . look-a-like sin just walked in . . . EL RAHEEM: Another devil. LONGSHOE: Hey . . . hey, whatdayasay . . . my names Longshoe Charlie Murphy. Call me Longshoe. Whats your name? CLARK: Davis . . . Clark . . . Ah . . . Clark Davis . . . Clark is my first name. PACO: Clark Kent. CUPCAKES: Mild-mannered, too. OMAR: No, no, Superman. (Other ad-libs: Faster than a speeding bullet, etc.) PACO: Oye . . . Shoe . . . est bueno . . . pa rajalo . . . LONGSHOE: Back . . . back . . . boy . . . no est bueno . . . anyway, no mucho . . . como Cupcakes. PACO: Vaya. LONGSHOE: Pay them no mind . . . crazy spics . . . where you locking? CLARK: Upper D 15. LONGSHOE: Siberia, huh? . . . Tough. CLARK: First time in the joint. LONGSHOE: Yeah? Well, I better hip you to whats happening fast. ICE: Look out for your homey, Shoe. OMAR: Second. LONGSHOE: Look here, this is our section . . . white . . . dig? Thats the Rican table, you can sit there if they give you permission. . . . Same goes with the black section.
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Short Eyes ICE: Say it loud. OMAR: Im black and proud. ICE: Vaya! LONGSHOE: Most of the fellas are in court. Im the Don Gee here. You know what that mean, right? Good. Niggers and the spics dont give us honkies much trouble. Were cool half ass. This is a good floor. Dynamite hack on all shifts. Stay away from the black gods. (NETT appears outside gate.) NETT: On the gate. LONGSHOE: You know them when you see them. (NETT opens gate and enters.) NETT: On the chow. ICE: What we got, Mr. Nett? NETT: Baloney a la carte. ICE: Shit, welfare steaks again. (All exit except CLARK and LONGSHOE. Gate stays open. The men reenter with sandwiches and return to their respective places. NETT closes gate and exits.) LONGSHOE: Black go on the front of the line, we stay in the back. Its okay to rap with the blacks, but dont get too close with any of them. Ricans too. Were the minority here, so be cool. If you hate yams, keep it to yourself. Dont show it. But also dont let them run over you. Ricans are funny people. Took me a long time to figure them out, and you know something, I found out that I still have a lot to learn about them. I rap spic talk. They get a big-brother attitude about the whites in jail. But they also back the niggers to the T. ICE: (Throws LONGSHOE a sandwich.) Hey, Shoe. LONGSHOE: If a spic pulls a razor blade on you and you dont have a mop wringer in your hands . . . run. . . . If you have static with a nigger and they aint no white people around, get a spic to watch your back, you may have a chance. . . . That aint no guarantee. If you have static with a spic, dont get no nigger to watch your back cause you aint gonna have none. OMAR: You can say that again. ICE: Two times. LONGSHOE: Youre a good-looking kid. You aint stuff and you dont want to be stuff. Stay away from the bandidos. Paco is one
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of them. Take no gifts from no one. (NETT appears outside entrance gate.) NETT: Clark Davis . . . Davis. CLARK: Yes, thats me. NETT: On the gate. (NETT opens gate, enters with CLARKs belongings, leaves gate open.) Come here . . . come here . . . white trash . . . filth. Let me tell you something, and you better listen good, cause Im only going to say it one time . . . and one time only. This is a nice floor . . . a quiet floor. . . . There has never been too much trouble on this floor. With you, I smell trouble . . . I dont question the wardens or the captains motive for putting you on this floor . . . but for once Im gonna ask why they put a sick fucking degenerate like you on my floor. If you just talk out the side of your mouth one time . . . if you look at me sideways one time . . . if you mispronounce my name once, if you pick up more food than you can eat . . . if you call me for something I think is unnecessary . . . if you oversleep, undersleep . . . if . . . if . . . if . . . you give me just one little reason . . . Im gonna break your face up so bad your own mother wont know you. LONGSHOE: Mr. Nett is being kinda hard. NETT: Shut up . . . I got a eight-year-old daughter who was molested by one of those bastards . . . stinking sons of bitches, and I just as well pretend that he was you, Davis, do you understand that? PACO: Short eyes. LONGSHOE: Short eyes? Short eyes . . . Clark, are you one of those short-eyes freaks . . . are you a short-eyes freak? NETT: Sit down, Murphy . . . Im talking to this . . . this scumbag . . . yeah, hes a child rapist . . . a baby rapist. How old was she? How old? . . . Eight . . . seven . . . Disgusting bastard . . . Stay out of my sight . . . cause if you get in my face just one time . . . dont forget what I told you . . . Ill take a night stick and ram it clean up your asshole. I hope to God that they take you off this floor, or send you to Sing Sing. The men up there know what to do with degenerates like you. CLARK: I . . . I . . . NETT: All right, lets go . . . lock in . . . lock in . . . for the count . . . Clark, the captain outside on the bridge wants to see you. I hope he takes you off this floor.
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LONGSHOE: Hey, Davis . . . (Walks up to him and spits in his face. Men exit.) NETT: Juan, stay out and clean the dayroom. Omar, take the tier. (CAPTAIN ALLARD appears on the catwalk above. CLARK joins ALLARD and they carry on inaudible conversation. Crossing from stage right to stage left on the catwalk are CUPCAKES, ICE and LONGSHOE, followed by MR. BROWN. As LONGSHOE passes, he bumps CLARK. MR. BROWN stops beside CLARK, and CAPTAIN ALLARD chases after LONGSHOE to catwalk above left.) ALLARD: Hey, just a minute, you. Thats just the kind of stuff thats going to cease. (BROWN and CLARK exit catwalk above right and appear at entrance gate stage right.) BROWN: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate, CLARK enters dayroom, BROWN closes gate. CLARK says something inaudible to BROWN.) Youre lucky if you get a call before Christmas. (BROWN exits. CLARK leans on gate.) LONGSHOE: Get off that fuckin gate. (While the above was going on, JUAN has taken his cleaning equipment from the shower upstage left and placed a can of Ajax and a rag on the toilet area upstage center, and broom, mop, bucket, dustpan, dust broom, dust box in downstage left corner. JUAN sits at the table, CLARK at the window. JUAN pours coffee, offers CLARK a sandwich. CLARK crosses to table and sits.)

Short Eyes

JUAN: Hey, man, did you really do it? (OMAR starts chant offstage.) CLARK: I dont know. JUAN: What do you mean, you dont know? What you think I am, a fool or something out of a comic book. CLARK: No . . . I dont mean to sound like that, I . . . I . . . JUAN: Look, man, either you did it or you didnt. (JUAN stands.) Thats all there is to it. CLARK: I dont know if I did it or not. JUAN: You better break that down to me . . . (Sits.) cause you lost me. CLARK: What I mean is that I may have done it or I may not have . . . I just dont remember. . . . I remember seeing that little girl that morning . . . I sat in Bellevue thirty-three days and I dont remember doing anything like that to that little girl. JUAN: You done something like that before, havent you?
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Miguel Piero CLARK: I . . . yes . . . yes . . . I have. . . . How did you know? JUAN: Your guilt flies off your tongue, man. (Stands.) Sound like one of those guys in an encounter session . . . (Starts to sweep.) looking to dump their shit off on someone . . . You need help. The bad part about it is that you know it. CLARK: Help? I need help? Yes . . . yes, I do need help. But Im afraid to find it. Why? . . . Fear . . . just fear . . . Perhaps fear of knowing that I may be put away forever. . . . I have a wife and kid I love very much . . . and I want to be with them. I dont ever want to be away from them . . . ever. But now this thing has happened . . . I dont know what to do . . . I dont know . . . If I fight it in court, theyll end up getting hurt. . . . If I dont, itll be the same thing . . . Jesus, help me. God, forgive me. JUAN: Cause man wont. (JUAN at downstage left corner sweeping up dust.) CLARK: No man wont . . . Society will never forgive me . . . or accept me back once this is openly known. (JUAN begings to stack chairs right. CLARK hands JUAN a chair.) I think about it sometimes and . . . funny, I dont really feel disgusted . . . just ashamed . . . You wanna . . . JUAN: Listen to you? Its up to you. You got a half hour before the floor locks out unless you wanna go public like A.A. (JUAN picks up stool.) CLARK: No . . . no . . . no . . . I cant . . . I didnt even talk with the psychiatrist in the bighouse. JUAN: Run it . . . (JUAN puts down stool.) CLARK: You know, somehow it seems like theres no beginning. Seems like Ive always been in there all my life. I have like little picture incidents running across my mind . . . I remember being . . . fifteen or sixteen years old. (JUAN crosses upstage center to clean a toilet.) or something around that age, waking up to the sound of voices coming from the living room . . . cartoons on the T.V. . . . They were watching cartoons on the T.V., two little girls. One was my sister, and her friend . . . And you know how it is when you get up in the morning, the inevitable hard-on is getting up with you. I draped the sheet around my shoulders. Everyone else was sleeping. The girl watching T.V. with my sister . . . yes . . . Hispanic . . . pale-looking skin . . . she was eight . . . nine . . . ten . . . what the difference, she was a child. She was very pretty, high
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Short Eyes cheekbones, flashing black eyes . . . She was wearing blue short pants . . . tight-fitting . . . a white blouse, or shirt . . . My sister . . . she left to do number two . . . (JUAN returns to stage right.) She told her friend, Wait for me, Im going to do number two, and they laughed about it. I sneaked in standing a little behind her . . . she felt me standing there and turned to me . . . she smiled such a pretty little smile . . . I told her I was a vampire and she laughed . . . I spread the sheets apart and she suddenly stopped laughing. She just stood there staring at me . . . Shocked? Surprised? Intrigued? Dont know . . . dont know . . . She just stood and stared. (JUAN crosses to downstage left.) I came closer like a vampire . . . she started backing away . . . ran toward the door . . . stopped, looked at me again. Never at my face . . . my body . . . I couldnt really tell whether or not the look on her face was one of fear . . . but Ill never forget that look. (BROWN crosses on catwalk from left to right with a banana. Stands at right.) I was really scared that shed tell her parents. Weeks passed without confrontation . . . and I was feeling less and less afraid. . . . But thats not my thing, showing myself naked to little girls in schoolyards. (JUAN crosses to downstage right corner and begins to mop from downstage right to downstage left.) One time . . . no, it was the first time . . . the very first time. I was alone watching T.V. . . . was I in school or out? . . . And there was this little Puerto Rican girl from next door . . . her father was the new janitor . . . I had seen her before . . . many times . . . sliding down the banister . . . always her panties looked dirty . . . she was . . . oh, why do I always try to make their age higher than it really was . . . even to myself. She was young, much too young. . . . Why did she come there? For who? Hundred questions. Not one small answer . . . not even a lie flickers across my brain. OFFSTAGE VOICE: All right, listen up. The following inmates report for sanitation duty: Smalls, Gary; Medena, James; Pfeifer, Willis; Martinez, Raul. Report to C.O. grounds for sanitation duty. CLARK: How did I get to the bathroom with her? Dont know. I was standing there with her, I was combing her hair. I was combing her hair. Her curly reddish hair . . . (JUAN crosses upstage right, starts to mop upstage right to upstage left.) I was naked . . . naked . . . except for these flower-printed cotton underwear . . . no slippers, barefooted . . . Suddenly I get this feeling over me . . .
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Miguel Piero like a flash fever . . . and Im hard . . . I placed my hands on her small shoulders . . . and pressed her hand and placed it on my penis. . . . Did she know what to do? Or did I coerce her? I pulled down my drawers . . . but then I felt too naked, so I put them back on. My eyes were closed . . . but I felt as if there was this giant eye off in space staring at me . . . (JUAN stops upstage left and listens to CLARK, who is unaware JUAN is in back of him.) I opened them and saw her staring at me in the cabinet mirror. I pulled her back away from the view of the mirror . . . my hands up her dress, feeling her underdeveloped body . . . I . . . I . . . I began pulling her underwear down on the bowl. . . . She resisted . . . slightly, just a moment . . . I sat on the bowl . . . she turned and threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips . . . she gave a small nervous giggle . . . I couldnt look at her . . . I closed my eyes . . . turned her body . . . to face away from me . . . . I lubricated myself . . . and . . . I hear a scream, my own . . . there was a spot of blood on my drawers . . . I took them off right then and there . . . ripped them up and flushed them down the toilet. . . . She had dressed herself up and asked me if we could do it again tomorrow . . . and was I her boyfriend now. . . . I said yes, yes. (JUAN goes to center stage, starts mopping center stage right to stage left. BROWN exits from catwalk above right.) I couldnt sit still that whole morning, I just couldnt relax. I dressed and took a walk. Next thing I know I was running, out of breath . . . I had run over twenty blocks . . . twenty blocks blind . . . without knowing . . . I was running . . . Juan, was it my conscious or subconscious that my rest stop was a childrens playground? Coincidence perhaps . . . but why did I run in that direction, no, better still, why did I start walking in that direction . . . coincidence? Why didnt my breath give out elsewhere . . . coincidence? (JUAN moves to downstage left, CLARK moves to upstage center and sits on window ledge.) I sat on the park bench and watched the little girls swing, slide . . . run . . . jump rope . . . Fat . . . skinny . . . black . . . white . . . Chinese . . . I sat there until the next morning. . . . The next day I went home and met the little Puerto Rican girl again . . . almost three times a week . . . The rest of the time I would be in the playground or in the childrens section of the movies. But you know something? Er, er . . . (CLARK moves toward JUAN, who is in downstage left corner.)
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Short Eyes JUAN: Juan. CLARK: Yes, Juan . . . Juan, the listener . . . the compassionate, you know something, Juan . . . I soon became, became . . . what? A pro? A professional degenerate? (The sound of garbage cans banging together is heard offstage.) I dont know if you can call it a second insight on children. But . . . I would go to the park . . . and sit there for hours and talk with a little girl and know if I would do it or not with her . . . just a few words was all I needed. Talk stupid things they consider grownup talk . . . Soon my hand would hold hers, then I would caress her face . . . next her thighs . . . under her dress . . . I never took any of them home or drove away with them in my car . . . I always told them to meet me in the very same building they lived in. . . . OFFSTAGE VOICE: On the sanitation gate. (Sound of gate opening.) CLARK: On the roof or their basements under the stairs . . . sometimes in their own home if the parents were out. . . . The easiest ones were the Puerto Ricans and the black girls . . . little white ones would masturbate you right there in the park for a dollar or a quarter . . . depending on how much emphasis their parents put in their heads on making money. I felt ashamed at first . . . but then I would rehearse at nights what to do the next time . . . planning . . . I (JUAN starts moving slowly from downstage left to upstage left.) couldnt help myself . . . I couldnt help myself . . . something drove me to it . . . I thought of killing myself . . . but I just couldnt go through with it . . . I dont really wanna die . . . I wanted to stop, really I did . . . I just didnt know how. I thought maybe I was crazy but I read all types of psychology books . . I heard or read somewhere that crazy people cant distinguish right from wrong. . . . Yet I can . . . I know whats right and I know what Im doing is wrong, yet I cant stop myself . . . JUAN: Why didnt you go to the police or a psychiatrist? (JUAN crosses to shower room upstage left.) CLARK: I wanted to many a time . . . but I know that the police would find some pretext to kill me . . . and a psychiatrist . . . well, if he thought he couldnt help me, hed turn me over to them or commit me to some nut ward, Juan, try to understand me. (JUAN comes out of the shower room and starts putting away his cleaning equipment.)
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Miguel Piero JUAN: Motherfucker, try to understand you . . . if I wasnt trying to, I would have killed you . . . stone dead, punk. (JUAN, at downstage left corner, picks up broom and bucket.) The minute you said that thing about the Rican girls. If I was you Id ask for a transfer to protection . . . cause (JUAN returns to shower room.) if you remain on this floor, youre asking to die. Youll be committing involuntary suicide. (JUAN again crosses to downstage left corner, picks up remaining equipment, crosses to toilet, picks up Ajax and rag and crosses to shower room.) Shit, why the fuck did you have to tell me all of it? You dont know me from Adam. (JUAN comes out of shower room and crosses to CLARK, stage center.) Why the hell did you have to make me your father confessor? Why? Why didnt you stop, why? CLARK: Cause you asked. Cause you . . . what I told you I didnt even tell the doctors at the observation ward. . . . Everything is coming down on me so fast . . . I needed to tell it all . . . to someone . . . Juan, you were willing to listen. (Whistle blows.) MR. NETT: (Offstage.) All right, on the lockout. (Whistle.) OTHER VOICES: On the lockout. (BROWN appears outside the gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (Enter EL RAHEEM, PACO, OMAR, ICE, CUPCAKES and LONGSHOE. BROWN closes gate and exits. ICE and OMAR get one chair and cross to table. OMAR starts playing cards. LONGSHOE gets his stool and crosses to behind table. CUPCAKES does push-ups on chair stage right.) ICE: Youre gonna be on the help for good, Omar. OMAR: No, the man said just for today . . . but he put me on top of the list. ICE: You gonna look out for me, heavy homeeeeey? OMAR: Since when did we become homeeeeeys? Shit, man, youre way out there in Coney Island somewhere . . . and Im way in Bed-Stuy. ICE: How you gonna show, brotherman? Its the same borough, aint it? OMAR: Its the same borough, Iceman . . . but its a different world. ICE: Aint this a bitch? I comes on this here floor with this man . . . there was nothing but Whiteys on the floor. It was me and him against the world . . . I come out every night and stand by his side, ready to die . . . to die . . .
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Short Eyes PACO: Yeah, cause you no wanna die alone. ICE: That has nothing to do with nothing. OMAR: It has everything to do with everything. ICE: How you going to show? How you do this to me, Omar, homey. OMAR: Being how you mentioned it, perhaps its not a bad idea. Save me some money when you go to the store. ICE: I aint gonna argue that . . . cause this is me, the Iceman, talking . . . my hand dont call for this type of talking, man. Your main mellow-man, this is too strong . . . contracts . . . OMAR: Who said anything about contract? I didnt say anything about contract . . . anybody here said anything about a contract? . . . CUPCAKES: I didnt hear anybody say anything . . . I didnt say it. PACO: Me neither . . . LONGSHOE: Who could say anything with a swollen lip? JUAN: I mind my own business. OMAR: See, you must be hearing things. ICE: You didnt say it . . . but you implied it . . . you was leading right up to it. OMAR: Well, now that you mentioned it . . . perhaps its not a bad idea . . . ICE: How you gonna do this to me? Omarrrrr . . . homeeey . . . OMAR: Did it to yourself. You knew Id always look out but now you put these ideas into my head . . . and it sounds kinda . . . ICE: Omar . . . my pretty nigger . . . even if you get no bigger, youll always be my main nigger. . . . And if you get any bigger, youll just be my bigger nigger . . . OMAR: Better run that shit on the judge. You know what you can do for me . . . give me a softshoe. ICE: Yes, sir, boss, captain, your honor, mister, sir. (Fast softshoe.) OMAR: Hey, freak. (To CLARK.) Youre sittin on my Chinese handball court. (CLARK moves to upstage right.) ICE: That there is where I hangs my wet clean clothes . . . and I dont wanna have them sprayed. Move . . . creep. (CLARK moves to stage center.) EL RAHEEM: Youre in Gods walking space. (CLARK moves to lower stage right.) PACO: Thats Pacos walking space.
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Miguel Piero CUPCAKES: Hey, Clark . . . that spots not taken . . . right over there. . . . Yeah, thats right . . . the whole toilet bowl and you go well together. CLARK: Im not going to stand for this treatment. PACO: Did you say something out of your mouth, creep? OMAR: You talking to everyone, or to someone in particular? LONGSHOE: I know you aint talking to me. ICE: You got something you wanna say to someone in this room, faggot? CLARK: I was talking to myself. EL RAHEEM: Well, dont talk to yourself too loud. CUPCAKES: Talk to the shitbowl . . . youll find you got a lot in common with each other. JUAN: Drop it . . . Cut it loose . . . PACO: Dnde est La Mancha? . . . or did Sancho go to another floor? JUAN: Paco . . . one of these days you gonna get me very very angry. PACO: Im trembling, man . . . whooo, Im scared . . . cant you smell it, Im shitting bricks . . . ICE: Juan . . . be cool . . . dont know why you wanna put front for that freak . . . but, man . . . if you dont wanna vamp . . . dont go against your own people . . . you be wrong, man . . . . JUAN: Aint going against my own brother, man . . . but if the dude is a sicky. . . . Cut him loose . . . all that aint necessary . . . Ice. ICE: It aint your place, Juan, and you know it . . . youre out of time. PACO: I think he has a special interest. ICE: Dont come out of your face wrong, Paco. PACO: Ice. ICE: Youre interrupting me, Paco. Me and you both know where youre coming from . . . dont make me put your slit in the streets . . . and, Juan, you know youre out of order. This aint your turn, man. CUPCAKES: Lets go do up them clothes, Juan. JUAN: Yeah. Okay, kid . . . go get the buckets . . . Ill be down the tier. (BROWN appears outside gate.) CUPCAKES: On the gate. BROWN: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate, and CUPCAKES and JUAN exit. BROWN closes gate and exits.) PACO: Man thinks he El grande Ping . . .
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Short Eyes ICE: Squash it . . . LONGSHOE: (Goes over to toilet, where CLARK is.) Hey, man . . . dont leave. I want you to hold it for me while I pee. CLARK: What . . . wha . . . LONGSHOE: I want you to hold my motherfucking dick while I pee, sucker, so I dont get my hands wet . . . (Laughter.) Well? CLARK: No . . . no . . . I cant do that. LONGSHOE: Oh. You cant do that . . . but you can rape seven-year-old girls. CLARK: I didnt rape anybody. I didnt do anything. LONGSHOE: Shut up, punk. (Pushes CLARKs chest.) Whats this, smokes? CLARK: Theyre all I have . . . but youre welcome to some. LONGSHOE: Some? Im welcome to all of them, creep. CLARK: What about me? LONGSHOE: What about you? CLARK: Theyre all I have. LONGSHOE: Kick. CLARK: But . . . ICE: Kick, motherfucker, kick. LONGSHOE: Kick . . . hey, let me see that chain . . . gold? CLARK: Yes. LONGSHOE: How many carats? CLARK: Fourteen. ICE: Damn, Shoe . . . if you gonna take the chain, take the chain. LONGSHOE: I . . . me . . . take . . . who said anything about taking anything. That would be stealing and thats dishonest, aint it, Clarky baby? You wanna give that chain, dont you . . . after all, were both white and we got to look out for one another. Aint that true, Clarky baby? You gonna be real white about the whole thing, arent you, Clarky baby? CLARK: Its a gift from my mother. ALL: Ohhh! LONGSHOE: I didnt know you had a mother . . . I didnt think human beings gave birth to dogs, too. OMAR: Looks like the freak aint upping the chain, Shoe. LONGSHOE: Oh, man, Clarky baby, how you gonna show in front of these people? You want them to think were that untogether? What are you trying to say, man? You mean to stand there in your nice
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Miguel Piero cheap summer suit looking very white and deny my whiteness by refusing to share a gift with me? That totally uncool . . . youre insulting me, man. OMAR: Mans trying to say that youre not white enough. LONGSHOE: Youre trying to put a wire out on me, creep? OMAR: Man saying youre a nigger-lover. LONGSHOE: You saying that Im a quadroon? EL RAHEEM: What? Freak, did you say that devil has some royal Congo blood in his veins? ICE: I aint got nothin to do with it, Shoe, but I swore I heard the freak say that you were passing, Shoe. CLARK: I didnt say that . . . I didnt say anything. ICE: You calling me a liar. CLARK: No, no . . . no. LONGSHOE: Then you did say it? (They all push CLARK around.) CLARK: Please, please, here, take this chain, leave me alone. ICE: (Yanks chain from around neck.) Pick the motherfucking chain up, freak. EL RAHEEM: Thats right . . . you tell that man he aint good enough to talk to. LONGSHOE: First Im a nigger-lover . . . then a quadroon . . . now Im not even good enough to talk to. EL RAHEEM: Boy, I told you about being in Gods walking space, didnt I? ICE: You better answer God when he speaks, boy. LONGSHOE: Dont you turn your back on me, motherfucker. (Strikes CLARK. He falls against EL RAHEEM, who hits him too. OMAR begins kicking him. MR. NETT appears outside gate.) MR. NETT: On the gate. (NETT opens gate, enters.) OMAR: Mr. Nett. EL RAHEEM: Mr. Nett, Mr. Nett, the man started a fight with Omar and we just broke it up. ICE: Thats right, Mr. Nett. MR. NETT: You guys shouldnt whip his face. Omar, you are on the help permanently. The Torres brothers beat their case this morning. OMAR: Right on . . . bet them two are high as all hell by now.
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Short Eyes MR. NETT: Yeah, and theyll be back, mark my words. Listen, get this man off the floor. You guys know the rules . . . no sleeping on the floor. (MR. NETT closes gate and exits.) ICE: You guys oughta learn how to touch up a dude. OMAR: Ill get a bucket of water. LONGSHOE: Fuck the bucket of water, Omar. Put the suckers head in the toilet bowl. Theres water there. EL RAHEEM: Hes still a devil . . . I wont do that to no man. LONGSHOE: We could get it on again. EL RAHEEM: That dont present me no problems . . . ICE: Squash it, man . . . both of you . . . LONGSHOE: Come on, Omar, grab his other side . . . OMAR: Hey, theres still piss in there. LONGSHOE: Put his head in and Ill flush it. EL RAHEEM: Omar . . . let me put his head in there and you flush it. LONGSHOE: Makes no difference . . . flush the motherfucker, Omar. (OMAR, LONGSHOE, PACO pick up CLARK to put his head in toilet bowl. They use him as a ramrod, making three runs at the toilet, CLARK screaming. On third ram, toilet is flushed, and lights fade.)

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Miguel Piero Same scene. Half an hour later. JUAN is playing chess with ICE. PACO is seated at table, watching ICE and JUAN play chess. OMAR and CUPCAKES are doing exercises. EL RAHEEM is writing, talking to himself. LONGSHOE is reading. ICE: You know, its kinda like a shame what these dudes did to that poor ugly misbegotten son of a bitch. I feel almost sorry for the slob. They do that to me or even think of doing it . . . its war . . . to the bitter end. JUAN: Spare me. . . . Where they take him? ICE: Dont know . . . dont care . . . and dont give a fuck. OMAR: They took him down for P.I. . . . CUPCAKES: P.I.? OMAR: Positive Identification . . . stupid. CUPCAKES: Your mama. OMAR: My mama dont play that shit . . . and neither do I . . . EL RAHEEM: I hope they dont bring him back on the floor . . . JUAN: Who, Short Eyes? EL RAHEEM: Yeah . . . I got the feeling . . . and the knowledge working full and I feel it . . . ICE: Feel what, man? JUAN: You know as well as I do what. . . . Go on, its your play . . . ICE: Looks like you made the wrong move there, governor . . . it seems that I am going to have to prove to you, young whippersnapper, that you cant fool around with an old man . . . JUAN: You sure talk a lotta shit, Ice. ICE: Youre in check, my good fellowchip, chip, cheerios and all that shit . . . ten months, and I finally beat that motherfucker. LONGSHOE: I hear you talking, Ice . . . git em . . . ICE: Excuse me, my good man, while I answer natures call . . . I shall return shortly. . . . Motherfucker, you better not cheat. Let me cop that heist when youre through . . . Shoe. LONGSHOE: Youre on it second . . . Cupcakes cracked already. EL RAHEEM: I dont understand you niggers, sometimes. . . . Here you got an opportunity to learn about yourselves . . . about the greatness of the black man. And what you do? . . . Spend your time reading filthy books . . . talking negative shit . . . beating your meat at night . . . nothing thatll benefit you in the future world of
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Short Eyes the black man. . . . The time for the devil is almost up . . . he was meant to rule for a certain time and his time is near, almost too near. LONGSHOE: El, let me tell you something. Im a hope-to-die dope fiend . . . not cause Im black . . . or cause I have some personality disorder, but because I like being a dope fiend. I like being a dope fiend. And nothing is gonna change that in me. If Allah comes down from wherever he is . . . and he aint doing good dope . . . I aint gonna cop from him . . . and Ill put out a wire that his thing is cut with rat poison. . . . Why dont you go back into your lessons and git off my motherfucking back? Cause I do as I please. . . . When the day comes that I wanna become a black god, a Panther or a Muslim, then I will become one. Right now, all this shit you keep running about us being niggers, stupid and ignorant, aint gonna get you nothing but a good kick in the ass. ICE: (Continuing.) Let me cop that heist, Cupcake . . . CUPCAKES: When you gonna learn that Im nmero uno? OMAR: Come on, nmero uno . . . do me nmero ten push-ups . . . PACO: Uno, do, tre, quatro . . . OMAR: Hey, will you look at this? What kinda push-ups are those suppose to behis ass all up in the air? PACO: El culito est cogiendo aire. CUPCAKES: I hope Geraldo Rivera gives you the shock of your life. OMAR: Weak-weak. LONGSHOE: Better get some friends to burn some candles for you. PACO: Corny little guy, aint he? CUPCAKES: Its better than saying I hope he gets electrocuted, isnt it? LONGSHOE: Go back to clowns college. ICE: I told you dudes about letting him see too much T.V. The boob-tube gives cancer of the eyeball . . . but in your case . . . OMAR: Weak-weak boo-boo. (All join in booing ICE.) CUPCAKES: Holy dingleberries, Batman, your shit stinks too. JUAN: Okay, everybody, lets give them something for effort . . . two ha-has for Ice and one tee-hee for Cakes. . . . Ready . . . tee-hee, ha-ha. (NETT appears outside gate.) NETT: On the gate. (NETT enters.) JUAN: . . . And one boo for Mr. Nett.
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Miguel Piero ALL: Boo . . . CUPCAKES: Fuck this, Im going to take a shower. (CUPCAKES goes into shower.) MR. NETT: (To JUAN.) Poet, youve got a visit. JUAN: Bout time . . . I know Mammy aint gonna let me swim this ocean by my lonesome. MR. NETT: You too, Murphy. JUAN: Come on, lets not keep the people waiting. LONGSHOE: I refuse my visit, Mr. Nett. MR. NETT: Thats up to you. JUAN: You what? Man, what kinda talk is that about? Your people hustled out here from the Island and you refuse? You gonna show like Cagney? LONGSHOE: Juan, I like you, but dont go in my kitchen without my permission. JUAN: Solid on that . . . later . . . (Enter BROWN.) BROWN: All right, listen up. Anyone for religious services? EL RAHEEM: Yeah, Im going, Mr. Brown. (Various ad-libs.) OMAR: How about some pussy? BROWN: You better watch your mouth, punk, or Ill put my foot up your ass. (Exit BROWN and EL RAHEEM.) LONGSHOE: Juan, wait . . . its cool, man . . . JUAN: Sure . . . sure, man . . . its cool. Me and yous all right . . . LONGSHOE: Juan . . . wait, dont make your visit . . . dont go, man . . . JUAN: What? Not to make my visit? You must be out of your mind, Shoes . . . LONGSHOE: Dont, man . . . the freak . . . hes gonna . . . man, like I feel it. . . . You gonna seem out of place when you show back . . . its gonna be like when you step out of the joint . . . the impact . . . everythings coming down . . . and bang, knocks you dead on your ass. . . . And you . . . fight to get up . . . and all you can do is throw a brick . . . cause thats the only thing that carries any weight. . . . Dig where thats at, Juan . . . you in the life . . . you know. JUAN: Only thing I know is that you been fucking with them A trains, again. OMAR: Yeah, and that goddamn homemade wine. LONGSHOE: Thats right . . . but you know like everyone else knows that I know what Im saying even if I dont say it out loud.
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Short Eyes MR. NETT: Murphy, youre lucky I dont lock you up for being stoned. LONGSHOE: You wouldnt do that, Mr. Nett. Mr. Nett . . . you wouldnt do that, Mr. Nett . . . what would happen to your bread on the white side of the road? PACO: Hey, man, be cool, Shoe. LONGSHOE: I said white side, Paco, not Puerto Rican . . . MR. NETT: Murphy . . . LONGSHOE: I should have you call me Mister Murphy . . . Mister Nett . . . MR. NETT: Dont push it, Murphy. PACO: If I blow . . . you gonna answer. MR. NETT: Listen, Murphy, if you dont want your visit, thats all right with me . . . I give less than a fuck. . . . Thats your right. Coming, Juan? LONGSHOE: No. JUAN: Dont do that . . . dont ever do that again . . . dont ever attempt to think for me. I dont know where your heads at . . . but I cant see what the freak has to do with . . . NETT: (Crossing to shower.) Mercado. LONGSHOE: Man, he has everything to do with it . . . Dont you see he has the mark on . . . Like I said before, its the same thing as coming out of the joint . . . youre branded . . . a week . . . a month . . . sooner or later theyre gonna take you off the count . . . you know that. . . . What makes you think his place is any different . . . its all the same thing . . . . JUAN: You lost me, but keep me lost . . . cause I gotta feeling I aint gonna like it if you find me. LONGSHOE: Go on, get your part of it . . . but dont bring it back on the floor cause if you do, you better walk pretty hard, Juan. JUAN: No, Shoes . . . I walk soft but I hits hard. Dig this . . . visits and mail . . . thats my ounce of freedom, and I aint gonna give it up for nobody. (NETT and JUAN exit, gate closes. LONGSHOE gets sick and vomits into toilet, upstage center. ICE and OMAR cross upstage to LONGSHOE.) ICE: You better get Mr. Nett. OMAR: Hey, Mr. Nett. You better come in here, Shoe is sick. (NETT appears outside gate.)
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NETT: On the gate. (Gate opens, NETT enters. OMAR, ICE and NETT help LONGSHOE to gate, exit. Gate closes. PACO alone in room, with CUPCAKES in shower. PACO flushes toilet and waits until men have crossed catwalk above. He enters shower and joins CUPCAKES singing. PACO sneaks up on CUPCAKES and embraces and kisses him on the neck.) CUPCAKES: What the fuck . . . hey, git the fuck off me, motherfucker Paco. . . . Man, whats the matter with you? PACO: Matter? Whats the matter with you? CUPCAKES: You know whats the matter with me, man . . . I dont play that shit, man. PACO: Dont play what? CUPCAKES: You know what. Dont push me, man. PACO: Dont play what? CUPCAKES: That faggot shit. PACO: Man, cause I kiss you doesnt mean youre a faggot. CUPCAKES: It means youre a faggot. . . . Dont do it again. PACO: And if I do, what you gonna do? CUPCAKES: Nothing . . . I aint saying Im gonna do anything . . . PACO: Then why should I stop . . . I dig it . . . CUPCAKES: I dont . . . and Im telling you to stop and dont . . . PACO: Youre telling me? Boy, you dont tell me nothing. CUPCAKES: Stop pushing on me. Look, Im asking you . . . PACO: Go on and ask me . . . ask me like a daddy should be asked . . . CUPCAKES: Youre treading on me, man. PACO: Y qu? yeme, negrito . . . djame decirte algo . . . t me tiene loco . . . me desespera . . . nene, estoy enchulao contigo. . . . Yo quiero ser tuyo y quiero que t sea mo . . . Y qu t quiere que yo haga por ti? CUPCAKES: Que me deje quieto . . . yo no soy un maricn . . . PACO: Papacito, yo no estoy diciendo que t ere maricn. . . . Yo no pienso as . . . CUPCAKES: Y qu t piensa? PACO: Que te quiero y que te adoro . . . nene. CUPCAKES: No soy nene . . . PACO: T va a ser mo . . . mi nene lindo . . . Cupcakes, que dio bendiga la tierra que t pise . . . CUPCAKES: Echa, que est caliente, Paco. PACO: Pue ponme fro.
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Short Eyes CUPCAKES: Paco, por favor, djame ya. Cabrn. PACO: Hijo la gran puta . . . punk, I ought to take you now. CUPCAKES: Leave me alone . . . djame. PACO: Listen, little brother . . . I dont want nothing from you the hard way. CUPCAKES: Well, thats all you gonna get out of me, a hard way to go . . . and dont you ever call me brother. . . . If you considered me your brother, would you be trying this shit? . . . PACO: Si mi hermano era tan lindo como t . . . yeah . . . CUPCAKES: Youre sick . . . PACO: Im what? Sick? Dont you say that to me . . . sick . . . shit, Im sick cause Im in love with you . . . CUPCAKES: Love me? . . . You use words that you dont even know the meaning of. Brother . . . Love . . . Shit, theres a gringo who does it to little girls . . . and you wanna mess with me. . . . Why dont you hit on him . . . why? Cause hes white . . . and you scared of the Whitey? . . . But youll fuck over your own kind . . . . Hes the one you should be cracking on . . . hes the one. Not me. . . . But youre scared of him . . . . PACO: I fear nobody . . . or anything, man . . . God or spirits. Beside . . . I dont want him, I want you . . . . CUPCAKES: But you cant have me. PACO: Push comes to shove, Ill take you. But I dont wanna do that cause I know Im gonna have to hurt you in the doing. Look, man, Ill go both ways with you. Who you looking for? Juan is on the visit. And let me tell you this. Makes me no difference if he does have your back. (BROWN appears outside gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (Gate opens. OMAR enters. BROWN exits. Gate closes.) PACO: Im going to have you . . . if I want you . . . right now . . . Im gonna show you I aint scared of nobody . . . cause you need to know that you gotta man protecting you. . . . Im gonna take that honky and youre gonna help. OMAR: What? PACO: (Crossing to gate.) Hey, hey, officer, officer. (BROWN reappears at the gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate, PACO exits, gate closes, BROWN exits.)
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Miguel Piero OMAR:Why you let that creep talk to you that way? . . . All you gotta do is swing and keep swinging. Fuck it if you lose. Fuck it if you win. Makes no change either way. Just let him know yous a man. I aint the smartest guy in the world . . . but I do know that some people you can talk to, some people you gotta fight. CUPCAKES: I took a swing at him. OMAR: Not hard enough . . . not at the right place. You should wait till Juan is here. CUPCAKES: I dont wanna use Juan. OMAR: Bullshit. If youre drowning, you use anything. Yous a fine motherfucker, Cupcakes. Like I said, I aint the smartest guy in the place. But I get the feeling you like being a fine motherfucker. And maybe . . . CUPCAKES: Look, look . . . were gonna do it to the white freak. OMAR: Im down . . . either way. CUPCAKES: What you mean, either way. OMAR: I like you, Cupcakes. But if youre gonna give it up . . . with an excuse . . . I want some. (Crossing above on the catwalk, left to right, are LONGSHOE and ICE.) LONGSHOE: Yeah . . . man, let me tell you, Ice, that old man put up one hell of a fight. He was about sixty years old. But he was hard as nails. Later in court I found out he was a merchant seaman. (Exit above, LONGSHOE and ICE. BROWN and EL RAHEEM appear at gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate.) EL RAHEEM: (Ad-libs ending with . . . ) Why dont you come on down to religious services sometime? BROWN: No, I was born a Christian and Ill die a Christian. (BROWN leaves room, letting LONGSHOE and ICE enter, closes gate and exits.) ICE: You think you got it beat? LONGSHOE: Oh, yeah, no doubt about it . . . like when we went to court . . . he told the judge that I was Spanish . . . and that I spoke it when I was ripping him off. Cause the old man is South American. I told the judge I could hardly speak English, let alone some mira-mira language. The Legal Aid said we got one good chance behind that. (PACOs voice comes from offstage right. Ad-libs about drag queens that have just been arrested. BROWN and PACO appear at gate.)
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BROWN: On the gate. (Enter PACO.) OMAR: Hey, look, some fags . . . they bringing in some drag queens on the floor . . . oh, baby . . . hey, sweet mama . . . over here, check this out . . . ten inches. (ICE joins OMAR to make some remarks to the girls, or drag queens, offstage.) ICE: Fuck that, check this out . . . thirteen inches. (Enter JUAN.) JUAN: That belongs to Paco. Hey, whats happening, Ice, dont tell me you are into that scene? (BROWN closes gate and exits.) ICE: Juan . . . a stiff dick knows no conscience. How was the visit? JUAN: Beautiful . . . told her to chalk the bail money up . . . just go for the lawyer. I think thats more important . . . dont you? ICE: Yeah, it is . . . if I had somebody out there looking out for me, Id do the same thing. JUAN: Shes not very pretty . . . not very bright . . . but shes all I have, man, and I burn her every night. ICE: Damn, Juan, speaking of burning somebody, did I ever tell you about the first time I was upstate? . . . Clinton, to be exact. OMAR: Yeah, I heard it before. The old Jane Fonda shit. ICE: Well, Juan aint heard it. OMAR: Tell it to Juan. JUAN: Go on, run it. ICE: You know how hard it was to get short heist up in big-foot country before the riot. LONGSHOE: What you mean before the riot? It still hard to cop short heist up there. People still making money renting the damn things out. OMAR: Yeah, but it was harder then. Now they dont really give that much attention to short heist. Like before, they would keep, lock you. Now they just take them away. JUAN: When I was in Cax, it was terrible up there. Man, I still hear tell they got the old track system running. CUPCAKES: Whats the track system? JUAN: Segregation between inmates . . . like black and white handball courts . . . water fountains, you know like . . . ICE: If youre white you cant smoke after a black, sit at the same table in the messhall, and if you do, you cant eat your food. No taking anything from a black person. Like if youre a whitey and you playing handball and your ball goes over on the black
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Miguel Piero handball court and a black touches it, well you and the black have to fight. If you dont, you go on the track and become a creep. CUPCAKES: Break it down. ICE: Break it down, Juan. JUAN: For instance, the yard is broken down in three sections. ICE: Four. The track makes four. JUAN: Yeah, youre right. One white, one black, one Spanishspeaking. ICE: Ricans, baby, Ricans. PACO: Yeah, there was Cubans up there. JUAN: . . .An Mexicans n Dominicans n South Americans. ICE: Same damn thing. They all eat rice n beans. JUAN: You gotta lotta shit with you, Ice. But youre right. The track makes four. And if youre considered good people, you stay with your people and enjoy their protection. If you aint good people and . . . like . . . go against the program your people set up . . . ICE: Convicts law of survival. The codes of crime. JUAN: Well, anyway, you go to the track with the creeps . . . with no protection but your own two hands . . . dig? ICE: Man, fuck that, hell learn when he gets there. . . . Dig this . . . I was in my cell . . . like this is where they have all those French Canadian bigots. Let me tell you, I was raised in Georgia for a while, but like I swear to God I never seen anybody as racist as a French Canadian. Anyway, like I was in my cell about nine, dig? I was reading this short-heist book. Brotherman, this was a smoker. S . . . M . . . O . . . K . . . E . . . R. Just after a few pages . . . I had to put down the damn book because my Johnson Ronson was ripping through my cheap underwears. So I put the book down . . . jumped out my bed . . . stick the mirrors out the cell . . . to see if anybody was coming down the gallery. . . . Coast clear. . . . Like upstate you know aint like down here. You aint got no cellies, Cupcakes . . . you be by yourself. So I would really stretch out in doing up my wood. . . . I got this picture of Jane Fonda. Cause you cant have nothing on the walls. Shes got this black silk satin bikini. Man, I could almost touch those fine white tits of hers. And that cute round butt sticking out and all. Dig? I strip naked . . . and started rolling. She was looking good on my mind. OMAR: Why a white girl?
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Short Eyes ICE: Cause, sucker, we werent allowed to have short-heist pictures . . . and how many black girls have taken short-heist flicks. JUAN: Hundreds of them. And hundreds of Puerto Rican girls, too. ICE: Yeah, well . . . I guess I wanted a white girl. EL RAHEEM: You wanted a girl so bad . . . made him no different if it was just imagination. ICE: Hey, man, you guys gonna let me tell this thing or what? OMAR: Aint nobody stopping you. Run it. Juans listenin. ICE: Yeah, she was sure looking good on my mind . . . Jesus. . . . So I started calling out her name real softly . . . Jane . . . Jane . . . Janeeee . . . ooooh, Janeee baby. Oooooh, Janneeee baby . . . (LONGSHOE shows short-heist book to ICE. Inmates gather around table.) OMAR: Goddamn! Will you look at the gash on that girl. Thats pure polyunsaturated pussy. ICE: Wesson Oil never had it so good. Oh, Jane baby. Oh, Jane momma. Oooooh, Jane. Come here, get a part of some reallll downnnn home gut-stomped black buck fucking . . . Man, I was really running. Wow. She was in front of me. Dancing, spreading her legs wider and wider . . . till I could see her throat, mmm. Them white thighs crushing me to death. Wiggling and crawling on the floor. Calling her name out, Janneee babyyyyy . . . oooooh, Janeeee baby . . . This is black power. Git honey, git honey, git git git . . . ununhahahaha . . . mmmmm, calling her name out faster, a little bit louder. A little bit faster, a little bit louder . . . And Im whipping my Johnson to the bone . . . Soon everybody on the tier knew I was working out cause soon everybodys voices is with me. And were all tryin to get this one last big nut together. . . . Get it, get it. Janneeee . . . baby . . . Get it, get it, get it, get it, get it, get it, get it. I scream, my knees buckle . . . and Im kneeling there, beat as a son of a bitch, because thats the way I felt, beat as a son of a bitch. I really burnt Jane that night. You know if I ever meet that broad, Jane Fonda . . . (BROWN and CLARK appear at gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (CLARK enters, BROWN closes gate, BROWN exits.) ICE: . . . Im going to ask her if she ever felt a strange sensation that night. Anyway, brotherman . . . I turn my head and bang. (CLARK walks over to JUAN.)
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Miguel Piero CLARK: Can I see you, please. I need to talk to you, please. JUAN: Later. CLARK: Please. ICE: The man said, later. Youre interrupting me . . . creep. PACO: Go to your place, maricn. You know . . . go on, man, bang, then what happened. ICE: Oh yeah, bang. I happened to look up and theres these two redneck . . . peckerwood big-foot country honkies . . . looking and grinning at me. . . . I dont know how they was there cause I had my eyes closed all the time I was gitting my rocks off, better for the imagination. Helps the concentration, dig? They werent saying a word, just standing there grinning . . . grinning these two big grins . . . these two real big grins on the faces that reach from one ear to the other. So I started grinning back. Grinning th-that old nigger grin we give to Charlie. . . . We stood there grinning at each other for about five minutes . . . them grinning at my Johnson . . . me grinning at them grinning at my Johnson . . . just grinning. Hold it, no really, just grinning. Its weird. Freaky kinda thing. Somebody stops to watch you masturbate, then stands there grinning at you. I mean like what can you say? Really, what can you say to them? To anybody? All of a sudden the biggest one with the biggest grin gives out a groan. Hey, Harry, this fucking face has been pulling his pecker on a white woman. So Harry comes over and says very intelligently, Da . . . da . . . this aint no white woman, Joey. I mean, no real white woman. Shes a Communist, Joey, she really is, da . . . da . . . shes white trash, Joey. Take my word for it, shes white trash. The Daily News said so. So Joey runs this down on Harry: Harry, I know what she is . . . I read the papers, too, you know. But she is a white woman. And this nigger has been thinking about . . . having screwed her. Now you know thats un-American. Harry, open up the deadlock. So Harry runs to open up the deadlock. Now Joey got the nigger knocker wrapped around his hand real tight, dig. I know he about to correct me on some honky rules. I know whats about to jump off . . . Im in my cell . . . and Im cool . . . extra cool . . . thats my name . . . Ice . . . The lames roll in front of my cell and I go into my Antarctic frigid position . . . you can see the frost all over my cell. But before Harry could open the deadlock . . . I told him, Joey baby . . . now, Im locking up on the third tier . . . I said, Joey
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Short Eyes baby . . . I sure hope you can fly. He said, What you talking about, nigger boy? I said fly like a bird. You know F-L-Y? Cause once you open this gate . . . I aint about to let you whip me with that stick. I stood up on my toes, pointed over the rail and said both of us are going, Joey. He yelled out, Harry, dont up the gate. This nigger crazy. Now Im a crazy nigger cause I wouldnt let them come in here and kick me in my ass. CUPCAKES: So what happened after that? ICE: What happened? They called in reinforcement and tear-gassed me out the cell. CUPCAKES: Tear-gas you in the cell? ICE: Yeah, what you think they do, ask you pretty please, would you come out of your cell, we would like to break open your skull? JUAN: Aint nothing new about that . . . happens all the time. ICE: Anyway, when I comes out the hospital, I had to go see the psych . . . CUPCAKES: For what? ICE: For masturbating. And for not letting them crack my head willingly. You see only crazy people beat their meat. CUPCAKES: I must be a lunatic. PACO: The only lunatic is the freak. (NETT appears at gate.) NETT: On the gate. (Opens gate.) Sick call. Line up for sick call. PACO: Come, I hear they got a brand-new nurse on. (Exit LONGSHOE, PACO, CUPCAKES with various ad-libs.) OMAR: Now what you got, the leg? Or is it the tooth? ICE: Look, Jack, you had the leg last week. OMAR: Fuck that, Ill take the tooth. (Exit OMAR and ICE. NETT closes gate on EL RAHEEM and exits.) EL RAHEEM: Mr. Brown, Mr. Brown, I want to go to sick call. (BROWN appears outside gate.) BROWN: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate, lets EL RAHEEM out, closes gate, and both exit. CLARK and JUAN are left alone on stage.) JUAN: What you want to see me about, Clark? CLARK: Look, what I told you earlier . . . er . . . thats between me and you . . . like, I dont know why I even said that, just . . . just that . . . man, like everything was just coming down on me. . . . My wife . . . she was at the hospital . . . she . . . she didnt even
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Miguel Piero look at me . . . once, not once. . . . Please . . . dont let it out . . . please . . . Ill really go for help this time . . . I promise. JUAN: What happened at the P.I. stand? CLARK: Nothing . . . nothing . . . happened . . . JUAN: Did she identify you? Did she? CLARK: I dont know. I didnt see anybody. They put me next to a bunch of the other men about my size, weight . . . you know, the whole line-up routine. I didnt see anybody or anything but the people there and this voice that kept asking me to turn around to say, Hello, little girl. Thats all. JUAN: Nothing else? CLARK: No. JUAN: You mean they didnt make you sign some papers? CLARK: No. JUAN: Was there a lawyer for you there? Somebody from the courts? CLARK: Juan, I really dont know . . . I didnt see anybody . . . and they didnt let me speak to anyone at all. . . . They hustled me in and hustled me right out . . . JUAN: That means you have a chance to beat this case. Did they tell you what they are holding you for? CLARK: No . . . no one told me anything. JUAN: If they are rushing itthe P.I.that could mean they only are waiting on the limitation to run out. CLARK: What does all that mean? JUAN: What it means is that you will get a chance to scar up some more little girls minds. CLARK: Dont say that, Juan. Please dont think like that. Believe me, if I thought I couldnt seek help after this ordeal, I would have never . . . I mean, I couldnt do that again. JUAN: How many times youve said that in the street and wind up molesting some kid in the park? CLARK: Believe me, Juan . . . please believe me. I wouldnt any more. JUAN: Why should I? CLARK: Cause I told you the truth before. I told you what I havent told God. JUAN: Thats because God isnt in the House of Detention. CLARK: Please, Juan, why are you being this way? What have I done to you?
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Short Eyes JUAN: What have you done to me? What youve done to me? Its what youve done, period. Its the stand that you are forcing me to take. CLARK: You hate me. JUAN: I dont hate you. I hate what youve done . . . what you are capable of doing. What you might do again. CLARK: You sound like a judge. JUAN: In this time and place, I am your judge. CLARK: No . . . no. You are not. . . . And Im sick and tired of people judging me. JUAN: Man, I dont give a fuck what youre sick and tired about. What you told about yourself was done because of the pressure. People say and do weird things under pressure. CLARK: Im not used to this. JUAN: I dont care what youre used to. I got to make some kind of thing about you. CLARK: No, you dont have to do anything. Just let me live. JUAN: Let you live? CLARK: I cant make this . . . this kind of life. Ill die. JUAN: Motherfucker, dont cry on me. CLARK: Cry . . . why shouldnt I cry . . . why shouldnt I feel sorry for myself . . . I have a right to . . . I have some rights . . . and when these guys get back from the sick call . . . Im gonna tell them what the captain said to me, that if anybody bothers me, to tell him . . . JUAN: Then you will die. CLARK: I dont care one way or the other, Juan. When I came here I already had been abused by the police . . . threatened by a mob the newspaper created. . . . Then the judge, for my benefit and the benefit of society, had me committed for observation. Placed in an isolated section of some nut ward . . . viewed by interns and visitors like some abstract object, treated like a goddamn animal monster by a bunch of inhuman, incompetent, third-rate, unqualified, unfit psychopaths calling themselves doctors. JUAN: I know the scene. CLARK: No, you dont know . . . electrodes . . . sedatives . . . hypnosistherapy . . . humiliated by some crank nurses who strapped me to my bed and played with my penis to see if it would get hard for big girls like us.
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Miguel Piero JUAN: Did it? CLARK: Yeah . . . yes, it did. JUAN: My father used to say he would fuck em from eight to eighty, blind, cripple, and/or crazy. CLARK: Juan, you are the only human being Ive met. JUAN: Dont try to leap me up . . . cause I dont know how much of a human being I would be if I let you make the sidewalk. But theres no way I could stop you, short of taking you off the count. (NETT appears at gate.) NETT: On the gate. (NETT opens gate. The rest of the men enter. NETT closes gate and exits.) ICE: Juan . . . come here for a second. JUAN: Yeah, what is it, Ice? ICE: Juan, if you remember what was said after the last riot here . . . PACO: He should. He suggested it, didnt he? JUAN: I remember everything that was said. ICE: Anything that would affect the whole floor . . . we would hold council on it, right? Well, he affects the whole floor. JUAN: Whats happening? LONGSHOE: He white like I am . . . and you aint got no right according to the rules to take his back . . . if he is stuff. JUAN: Stuff? He aint stuff. LONGSHOE: Well, we say he is. JUAN: Who says he is? ALL: I say he is. PACO: Anybody that has to rape little girls is a faggot. Hes stuff . . . squeeze. JUAN: I say he aint. ICE: You got no say in this. PACO: Oh, hes got a say, not that it means anything, but hes got a say. LONGSHOE: Paco, be cool. JUAN: Yeah, Paco, be very cool. LONGSHOE: That aint necessary. And neither is your getting in the way of the council. JUAN: The council was set up to help, not to destroy. PACO: The council was set up to help, not to destroy. Oh, would you listen to this . . . very . . . very pretty . . . hes fucking Cupcakes and now hes fucking the white freak.
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Short Eyes CUPCAKES: Aint nobody fucking me, Paco. PACO: Maybe hes not yet, but hes setting you up. Giving you fatherly advice, my ass. Hes just like El Raheem. He wants to fuck you too. Putting the wisdom in front of the knowledge. Hes calling you a girl. Thats what he means by that. And Omar playing exercises with you so that you can take showers together. Longshoe . . . giving you short-heist books. Everybody wants you, Cupcakes. Cupcakes, Ice gave you that name, didnt he? Wasnt that your womans name in the street, Ice? . . . Nobody saying anything. Why? Cause I hit the truth. Pushed that little button Everybody on the whole floor is trying to cop . . . but only Juan gets a share. Now he wants the white freak for himself, too. JUAN: Youre sick, man. PACO: Tu madre . . . tu madre, maricn . . . hijo de la gran puta . . . cabrn. (PACO lunges toward JUAN.) ICE: Hold it . . . hold it . . . man, why fight each other over some bullshit. JUAN: Let the motherfucker go. Let him go. PACO: All right . . . all right, let me go. Ill be cool. Okay, Juan. Check this out. I want him. Longshoe is white. He gave the okay. That means he wants him. Omar getting a share. So does El Raheem. JUAN: El Raheem, you are in this too? EL RAHEEM: Hes a Whitey. A devil. Anything goes. PACO: How about you, Cupcakes? JUAN: Julio? PACO: Well, its either him or . . . well, Cakes . . . make up your choice, now. Which way? Who you stand with? CUPCAKES: I go . . . I go with you. JUAN: You punk, you little punk. Everything I taught you just went in one ear and came out the other. You want to be an animal too? . . . Youre letting this place destroy you. PACO: Ice, which way? ICE: Man, I . . . I dont want no part of it. PACO: You what? You want no part of it? ICE: You heard what I said. Juan is right. This place makes animals out of us. PACO: Man. ICE: Man what? You think anybody here is good enough to take me. JUAN: Take us.
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Miguel Piero PACO: Thats the way you want it? ICE: That the way it is. EL RAHEEM: Ice, you dont have to take a whole part. OMAR: Ice, you my man . . . but you sticking up for some honky is wrong. . . . You going upstate, you know that. Juan is likely to hit the street. He got somebody out there. You dont. All you got is a plea to cop. I dig you a whole lot. But youre wrong, Ice. LONGSHOE: You dont have to take part, play chickie . . . thats all, play chickie . . . ICE: I . . . I . . . all right . . . Ill play chickie . . . JUAN: You still got me to deal with. . . . (PACO grabs JUAN from behind.) PACO: Hold him, Ice. (ICE holds JUAN.) JUAN: Let me go, Ice. Ice, dont do this to yourself. Ice, let me go. CLARK: Mr. Nett. Mr. Nett . . . (CLARK runs to window ledge upstage center. OMAR jumps on ledge with him. NETT appears at gate, opens it, walks in, sees whats happening and turns to go, but remains.) Okay. Okay. Dont hurt me anymore. Go head, do what you want. Go head, you filthy bastards. Go head, Mr. Nett, dont think you can walk away from this. Ill tell the captain. Ill bring you all before the courts. You bastards. You too, you fat faggot. JUAN: Shut up . . . shut up. PACO: You gonna do what? (PACO pulls out homemade knife.) LONGSHOE: Hes gonna squeal. Hes gonna rat us out. (OMAR jumps off window ledge.) JUAN: Ice, let him go. EL RAHEEM: Youre in this too, Ice. Well all get more time. CLARK: Ill make sure you get life, you son of a bitch. MR. NETT: Ill lose my job. (Opens gate to look down corridor.) CLARK: Ill make sure you go to jail. My father has money . . . plenty money. JUAN: Shut up, Clark . . . shut up. (PACO runs toward CLARK to kill him. EL RAHEEM restrains him.) PACO: I aint doing no more time than I have to. OMAR: Paco, that murder. CUPCAKES: What are we going to do? LONGSHOE: Kill the motherfucking rat. MR. NETT: Kill himits self-defense.
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Short Eyes EL RAHEEM: Suicide . . . suicide. . . . He did it to himself. JUAN: Its murder. Ice, its murder. Youll be a part of it, too. PACO: Hold him, Ice. CUPCAKES: I dont want to do more time. LONGSHOE: Kill him . . . kill him . . . kill the sick motherfucker. (LONGSHOE pulls CLARK off window ledge.) PACO: Here, El . . . hes a devil . . . kill him. . . . You said the devil is gonna die anyway. (PACO gives the knife to EL RAHEEM.) OMAR: Kill him, El . . . kill him. EL RAHEEM: Hold him . . hold him. (CLARK runs to downstage right corner. OMAR and LONGSHOE grab him and hold him.) PACO: Stab him. MR. NETT: No, cut his throat. EL RAHEEM: Cut his throat. PACO: Do it, El . . . do it, El. (EL brings the knife down to CLARKs neck.) LONGSHOE: Go on, nigger, kill him. EL RAHEEM: I cant . . . I cant . . . I dont have the heart . . . I cant . . . do it. LONGSHOE: What you mean you cant do it? . . . You talk of killing Whitey every day. EL RAHEEM: I cant do it. I just cant kill a man like that. Not that way. Get up and fight, honky. Let him up and I could do it. LONGSHOE: Kill him . . . standing up . . . laying down . . . sitting . . . either way, hes dead. EL RAHEEM: Its not the same thing . . . I just cant do it. LONGSHOE: Kill him . . . kill him. PACO: Hes a devil, El Raheem. CUPCAKES: Oh, my God. (CUPCAKES pushes EL RAHEEM to the shower and restrains him.) JUAN: Dont, El, dont do it. Thats not the way a black god kills. Thats a devils way. CLARK: Please . . . dont kill me . . . please, I didnt mean what I said. I didnt mean it. I wont tell anybody . . . please do what you want but dont kill me. I got a wife and kids. Please, dont . . . please. EL RAHEEM: (Breaking loose from CUPCAKES, tries once more to kill CLARK.) Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar, I cant do it . . . I just cant do it.
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LONGSHOE: Give me that knife, punk. (Swings knife, cutting CLARKs throat.) Scream, bastard . . . rat . . . scream . . . monster . . . die . . . die . . . (Everyone is silent. NETT closes gate and exits.) OMAR: El Raheem . . . black god . . . leader of the black nation . . . faggot . . . EL RAHEEM: Im not a faggot . . . Im not a punk . . . Omar, believe me. Its just that I couldnt kill a man looking at me helpless. LONGSHOE: You punk motherfucker you . . . You aint nothing but a jiveass nigger. Im gonna cut your black ass until you turn white, nigger. CUPCAKES: El . . . ICE: Shoe . . . raise . . . or deal with me. LONGSHOE: You want a part of this, too, Ice? . . . Nigger, you want a part of this? ICE: Dont run it in the hole, Shoe. LONGSHOE: You selling me a ticket, faggot? ICE: Thats right, honky. You feel you can cash it? LONGSHOE: Come with it. ICE: You bring it and bring your best. (LONGSHOE rushes ICE, swings the knife. ICE jumps out of the way. PACO throws a chair to ICE.) LONGSHOE: Come, nigger. Whats the matter, jig? You cant stand the sight of a knife? You bought this . . . now enjoy it. Come baby, dont run. PACO: Ice. LONGSHOE: Paco, you go against me? ICE: Come, punk, now he stand on equal grounds. LONGSHOE: Youll only get one shot, faggot. ICE: Thats all I need. PACO: Dont look at me, Longshoe. You wanna kill each other, then go ahead. El que gane pierde. LONGSHOE: Whoever wins loses. ICE: Dirty cocksucker. Fuck it. CUPCAKES: Stop it, goddamn it. Stop it. . . . Oh, my God . . . is this really us? Blackout
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Short Eyes That evening. In dim light, NETT searches dayroom for remaining evidence, which he puts in the shower. Closes the shower curtain. Meanwhile, roll call is in progress. BROWN is on catwalk. As he calls out names, prisoners appear in their respective positions on the catwalk above. BROWN: All right, listen up. When I call out your name . . . give me your cell location and your first name . . . come out of your cell . . . leave everything behind . . . keep your mouth shut . . . eyes front . . . hands over your head. Blinker. OMAR: Omar, upper D 9. BROWN: Johnson. JOHNSON: El Raheem, William, lower D 4. BROWN: Pasqual. PACO: Paco Pasqual, lower D 2. BROWN: Wicker. ICE: John, lower D 5. BROWN: Murphy. LONGSHOE: Charles, lower D 7. BROWN: Otero. JUAN: Juan, upper D 3. BROWN: Mercado. CUPCAKES: Julio, upper D 2. BROWN: Put on your clothes and report to the dayroom. . . . (NETT remains. Enter ALLARD.) ALLARD: Get the lights on in here. NETT: On the lights. (Lights on in dayroom.) ALLARD: Get Merkaydo and Murphy. NETT: Mercado, Murphy, in the dayroom. BROWN: Mercado and Murphy. (CUPCAKES and LONGSHOE leave cells offstage and cross catwalk, left to right, led by BROWN. They appear at entrance to dayroom.) BROWN: Which one first? NETT: Mercado. (CUPCAKES and BROWN enter dayroom and BROWN searches CUPCAKES. BROWN leaves dayroom, closes gate, but remains outside it.) ALLARD: Merkaydo, possession of drugs and sale of drugs. CUPCAKES: Mi nombre es Mercado. Yo no hablo ingls.
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Miguel Piero ALLARD: You no what? Listen here, you little punk. I dont hear this speaka la English jazz. Im not here to play games with you. Thats why we give you recreation. The only game Im going to play with you is to break your little Puerto Rican ass and slam you in the bing until you leave this place. Is this clear? Now you speak English, dont you? CUPCAKES: Yes, sir, perfeckly. ALLARD: Now, thats sales and possession of drugs, right? CUPCAKES: Like, man . . . marihuana aint no drug. ALLARD: (Almost shouting.) My name is Captain Allard, my name is not man. . . . Do you understand that? Well, say so. CUPCAKES: Yes, sir. ALLARD: Okay. Lets see, your name is Merkaydo. CUPCAKES: Mercado. ALLARD: Jewleo. CUPCAKES: Julio. ALLARD: You are twenty-one years old and here for selling drugs. I wonder how many school kids you got hooked on this stuff. CUPCAKES: I hooked no one onto anything, man. ALLARD: What did you say? CUPCAKES: I mean, sir. ALLARD: You were in the dayroom when this happened, werent you? CUPCAKES: Yes, sir, he borrowed my towel, sir. ALLARD: He borrowed your towel, went into the shower and cut his throat? Why did you lend him your towel? CUPCAKES: To dry himself. ALLARD: What were you doing while he was in the shower? CUPCAKES: I was watching T.V. and rapping to the fellas. ALLARD: What program were you watching? CUPCAKES: The Dating Game. ALLARD: Did you know what Clark Davis was here for? CUPCAKES: No, sir, its none of my business. ALLARD: Did he seem depressed, uptight? CUPCAKES: I didnt notice. ALLARD: Merkaydo, this is your first time up on criminal charges, isnt it? CUPCAKES: Yes, sir. ALLARD: Come here, Merkaydo, sit down.
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Short Eyes CUPCAKES: No, thank you, Id rather stand, if you dont mind, Captain. ALLARD: Well, I do mind . . . I ask you to sit down . . . I dont like looking up. CUPCAKES: Yes, sir . . . ALLARD: Merkaydo . . . I dont know if you are listening to any of these jailhouse lawyers. But you should take note that all the cooperation that is given to the Department is always taken into deep consideration by the courts. Why, Ive known men who didnt stand a chance in a million to walk right out into the streets, all because of a letter of recommendation from the Department. And you know, of course, this is kept in the strictest of confidence. And who knowsmaybe in the future, if you should ever get arrested again, it may go well with you. Now, think about this for a moment. Do you care to make a statement? CUPCAKES: No, no statements . . . ALLARD: All right, go back to your cell. . . . Wait a minute, Merkaydo. Has anyone on this floor been hitting on you? CUPCAKES: No, sir. ALLARD: If anyone did approach you with a homosexual proposition, would you report it to the officer in charge, Mr. Nett? CUPCAKES: No, sir, Im no rat, Im a man . . . I take care of myself . . . ALLARD: Okay, mister . . . get back to your cell. BROWN: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate, CUPCAKES exits, BROWN closes gate. CUPCAKES crosses catwalk to his position above left. BROWN remains at entrance below, while ALLARD and NETT continue conversation.) ALLARD: Nett, how long has he been on your floor? NETT: A little over a month, sir. ALLARD: And no one has tried anything with him? NETT: Not that I know of, sir. ALLARD: Well, one things for sure, men aint what they used to be . . . NETT: Things have changed, sir. ALLARD: Murphy, hes been around a while . . . NETT: Murphys been in and out of these places since day one, sir. ALLARD: Call him in. NETT: Yes, sir. On the gate. Murphy in the dayroom. BROWN: Put your hands down. (BROWN opens gate, LONGSHOE enters, BROWN closes gate. During following dialogue,
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CUPCAKES, on catwalk above left, and JUAN, on catwalk above right, carry on a conversation in Spanish about the preceding interrogation.) ALLARD: Murphy . . . alias George Reagan . . . Michael Potter . . . Julian Berger . . . etc. . . . Drugs . . . burglary . . . assault . . . grand larceny . . . attempted murder . . . Now its armed robbery . . . you got quite a record, Murphy. LONGSHOE: Yes, sir. ALLARD: Murphy . . . stand up straight . . . get that gum out of your mouth . . . and wipe that smirk off your face. . . . You were in the dayroom when this happened? LONGSHOE: Sir? ALLARD: Were you in the dayroom when this incident concerning Clark Davis occurred? Thats a very simple question, Murphy . . . and all I want is a simple answer. Ill try to keep my questions from being too profound for you. LONGSHOE: I would appreciate it, Captain. ALLARD: Yes, Im sure you would. What were you doing while Clark Davis was bleeding to death in the shower? (At this point PACO, at entrance gate, joins Spanish conversation with JUAN and CUPCAKES.) LONGSHOE: I was sitting at the table reading a book and every once in a while Id take a glance at the boob-tube. ALLARD: At the what? LONGSHOE: At the television, sir. (At this point, ICE, on catwalk above left, and OMAR, on catwalk above right, talk in ism language.) ALLARD: Well, say so, youre no Puerto Rican just off the banana boat. You speak English. What was the name of the book you were reading and what program did you every once in a while glance at? LONGSHOE: The book was Fathers Little Girlfriend and the name of the program was The Dating Game. ALLARD: And I suppose everyone else on the floor was with you watching The Dating Game? LONGSHOE: Yeah, well, except those that were in court. ALLARD: Nett, cant you keep those men quiet? (NETT crosses to entrance gate. BROWN exits and reappears on catwalk.)
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NETT: All right, pipe down. (The inmates stop for a moment, then OMAR and ICE continue the ism talk.) ALLARD: Sit down, Murphy, have a smoke? LONGSHOE: No, thank you, Captain, I have my own . . . ALLARD: Murphy, let me ask you a question . . . just between you and me. . . . What do you know about this? Something isnt right . . . I can feel it . . . I think you know what I mean . . . BROWN: (On catwalk above, to ICE.): Shut up, ol simple-ass nigger. ICE: Your mothers father is a simple-ass nigger. BROWN: What you say? ICE: I didnt say nothing. BROWN: (Pulling ICE from catwalk above left.) Come on out of thereshut upshut upI kick you in the ass, shut up, motherfucker. (BROWN and ICE cross catwalk, left to right, and appear below at entrance gate.) LONGSHOE: Whats going on, Captain? ALLARD: Murphy, Im concerned about you . . . a lone white man among all these Puerto Ricans and Negroes. Youre not protecting these people, are you? . . . Do you realize that every offense that has been committed against a young white boy in this place has been perpetrated by the blacks and the Puerto Ricans? What do you owe these people? . . . Look, youre an old-timer from the old school, I understand that . . . and I appreciate and respect your position, but were in a different situation here. . . . Murphy, I want you to make a statement to help out in this investigation. LONGSHOE: I make no statements to anyone . . . I got nothing to say . . . ALLARD: All right, go back to your cell. Just a moment. Murphy, what color was his hair? LONGSHOE: Im color-blind, sir. ALLARD: Get out of here! Im color-blind! BROWN: On the gate. (Gate opens. BROWN enters, and LONGSHOE exits. Gate closes.) NETT: Want me to write him up, sir? ALLARD: Later. NETT: You want to see anyone else, sir? ALLARD: What for? . . . Theyll all come in here with the same story about watching The Dating Game show, and theyre all lying. NETT: What makes you think theyre lying, Captain?
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Miguel Piero ALLARD: What makes me think theyre lying? Let me ask you. How can a man come on this floor . . . no one talk to him . . . no one notice him, no one remember a thing about him? Nett, I came here to get the facts . . . and you are not helping. NETT: You have no right. ALLARD: Dont raise your voice at me, Nett. Im no inmate. NETT: Captain, who are you investigating, these animals or a fellow officer? ALLARD: Dont give me that fellow-officer routine, Nett. You are a disgrace to that uniform. NETT: Captain, those gold bars dont give you the right to abuse. ALLARD: Nett, did you send this T.V. repair order to the shop or not? This is your signature, isnt it? Then I can assume that the men were not watching T.V., because the television was not working. And can I also assume that Clark Daviss death was not a suicide? Do you realize what youve gotten yourself into? NETT: Captain, he was . . . ALLARD: Shut up, Nett . . . his parents are downstairs in the wardens office complaining about why he wasnt placed in a special unit . . . or given more protection. What are we supposed to say to his family? . . . I dont know if Im doing the right thing, Nett . . . but I am going to tear up this repair order. Its the only thing thatll shake up their story, and yours as well . . . . NETT: Thank you, sir. ALLARD: Theres nothing to thank me for. I didnt do this for you, Nett, but for the Department. Do we understand each other? NETT: Yes, sir. ALLARD: I hope so. Im going to recommend that these men be transferred to other floors, and I suggest that you make the same recommendation. Then you keep a tight rein on this floor and dont ever get involved with the inmates again. NETT: Yes, sir. ALLARD: I should demand your resignation, but I wont. I want you to take a sick leave early, like tomorrow. Write the reports first, get the men into the dayroomI want to speak to them. NETT: Captain, he was a child rapist. . . . On the gate, everyone in the dayroom. (BROWN opens gate. ICE, EL RAHEEM, PACO enter and cross to table area. OMAR, CUPCAKES, LONGSHOE and
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JUAN exit from catwalk and enter below. NETT stays on. BROWN leaves dayroom and closes gate.) ALLARD: Im Captain Allard, men. Im here investigating the terrible tragedy that occurred here today. . . . And Im satisfied that it was a suicide. . . . But I would like to state that I and Clark Daviss parents hold you all morally guilty. . . . If you had taken some time out of your own problems to help this poor man that was placed in here because of a mistaken identity . . . EL RAHEEM: What did you say? Mistaken identity? You mean he wasnt here because they caught him . . . ICE: El. ALLARD: Caught him doing what? EL RAHEEM: With drugs . . . what else do people come to jail for? ALLARD: No, Mr. Davis was not a drug addict. In fact, he was a very well-liked and respected member of his community . . . a working man with a wife and child. We took him down for a positive-identification line-up . . . and the person that Mr. Davis was supposed to have assaulted was not in her right mind and had already pointed out two, maybe five other men, as the man who assaulted her. . . . Mr. Davis was an innocent victim of circumstances . . . innocent. . . . Good night, men. ALL: Good night. BROWN: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate, ALLARD and NETT exit. BROWN closes gate and BROWN exits.) LONGSHOE: Man, he was guilty, I know, I could tell, I could see it in his eyes. EL RAHEEM: Man, he was clean. CUPCAKES: What have we done? ICE: Aint no use crying over it now, Cupcakes, be cool, dont blow your cool, kid. PACO: Juan knows. JUAN: I know nothing, I was watching The Dating Game. VOICE: Mercado, on the bail. ICE: Go on, boy, your pussy for the night has just come through . . . EL RAHEEM: Peace! CUPCAKES: Juan, dime la verda del tipo ese, t sabe. JUAN: Whats there to tell. You got it all under your belt, dont you? PACO: Oye, y qu? What difference does it make? I took part? I saw him guilty. I feel nothing, mistake, it happens, eso pasa. Someday
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Short Eyes

Miguel Piero Ill be in the streets walking, minding my own business and then boom-boom, Ill be shot down by a police, who will say its a mistake. I accept it as part of my destino. . . . S, es mi destino morir en la calle como un perro . . . . LONGSHOE: Thats right, what are you holding up to Juan so much for, will that bring him back? CUPCAKES: You talk, cause you did the killing. EL RAHEEM: He talks cause we did the killing. CUPCAKES: I didnt take his head, I didnt swing the knife, he did. ICE: Cupcakes, listen to me, you killed him just as much as I did. CUPCAKES: You? You wasnt even there. ICE: I was there . . . I was there . . . no, I didnt swing the knife . . . and neither did you, but were guilty by not stopping it . . . we sanctioned it. . . . Only Juan is free . . . VOICE: Julio Mercado on the bail . . . ICE: Take it light, kid, cause you take this place with you . . . OMAR: Cupcakes, I mean Julio, do me a favor, little brother. Call this number when you get out . . . tell her to come up to see me . . . fast . . . say that I need her, please, little brother, its important. CUPCAKES: Oye, Juan, por favor, t sabe . . . ICE: What you want, kid? What is it? Oh, shit, Juan, this kid think youre some kind of guru. Juan, if you dont tell him something, hes gonna go out there and run this thing on someone who shouldn hear it. Can you dig it, Juan? Get his head straight . . . Juan, can you dig where Im coming from? LONGSHOE: Cupcakes, Ive killed, and Im not afraid to do it again, do you understand that? JUAN: Shoe, if you run some shit on that kid again, I wont be afraid to kill, either. EL RAHEEM: Neither would I. JUAN: Ill give you something, a cheer, one last hooray, thats yours by law . . . cause youre leaving this place . . . and only because of that, cant give you no life-style pearls . . . no cues . . . because you, like the rest of us . . . became a part of the walls . . . an extra bar in the gate . . . to remain a number for the rest of your life in the street world . . . CUPCAKES: On the gate. (BROWN opens gate and walks away.)
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Short Eyes JUAN: Cupcakes, you went past the money and blew it . . . yeah, thats right, this is cop and blow . . . and you blew it because you placed yourself above understanding. VOICE: On the bail, Mercado . . . get your ass out here now. JUAN: Oye, espera, no corra, just one thing, brother, your fear of this place stole your spirit . . . and this aint no pawnshop. Blackout

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Miguel Piero GLOSSARY OF SLANG A TRAIN: Any depressant drug. They are readily available in most prisonsat a price. Guards and prisoners bring them in from the outside; also, they have a way of disappearing from the shelves of prison clinics and pharmacies. BACK: As in watch your back, meaning someone may attack you (usually with a knife) when you arent looking. Prisoners attack each other from the front (fronting) when they have some respect for their adversaries or when the attack constitutes some kind of showdown. Stabbing someone in the back is either an act of cowardice or signifies that the target isnt worth fronting. BANDIDO (OR BANDIT): Someone who chases attractive young prisoners for sexual purposes. BING: Solitary confinement. BREAK IT DOWN: Explain it. BURN: To take a prisoner for something; also, to masturbate while looking at a provocative picture of a woman. CAX: Coxsackie Correctional Facility, a prison in upstate New York. CELLIES: Cellmates. CHICKIE: A lookout. COMING OUT OF YOUR FACE WRONG: Bullshitting, saying stupid things. COMING OUT THE SIDE OF YOUR NECK: Same as COMING OUT OF YOUR FACE WRONG. CONTRACT: An agreement between prisoners, such as a contract to wash another prisoners clothes in exchange for a sandwich sneaked out of the kitchen by a prisoner who works there. Prison authorities tolerate such violations because this kind of crude barter helps make prison life more tolerable for inmates. COUNT: The roll call of prisoners. A convict is on the count if he is present and accounted for; hence the expression off the count, which means (since escapes from Sing Sing and other maximum-security prisons are so rare) that a prisoner is dead, usually murdered by fellow inmates.
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Short Eyes CREEP: Sexual offender, the lowest rung of the prison social hierarchy. Creeps never get a hang-out card (command enough respect to mingle and converse freely with other prisoners). CRIMEY: A fellow prisoner who was a member of ones gang or a partner in crime. D: A felony. DEUCE: A couple of puffs on someone elses cigarette. DON GEE: A big shot, gee is short for gun. DOWN: Willing. HACK: A guard. Also known as a roller. HELP: Prison job. To be on the help means to get a prison job. HOME PIECE: An inmate with whom one hung out before going to prison. HOMEY: A fellow prisoner from ones neighborhood or home town. ISM LANGUAGE: A black version of pig Latin. JIG: Derogatory term for a black man. JOHNSON (or JOHNSON RONSON, WOOD or SWIPE): Terms for a phallus. KEEP-LOCK: Punish a prisoner by confining him to his cell. KICK: Kick the habit. KITCHEN: (As in Dont go into my kitchen without permission) Ones private life. Stems from the custom among the poor of confining guests with whom they are not on intimate terms to the living room; only intimate friends are allowed into the kitchen, where fewer pretenses can be maintained. LAME: Sucker, chump. LEAP SOMEONE UP: Flatter someone; to get leaped up can also mean to get angry. LOCKING: (As in Where are you locking?) Meaning Wheres your cell? LONGSHOE: Someone whos hip, slick and has his act together. PALANTE: (Short for para adelante) Forward and onward. MELLOW-MAN: Close friend.
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Miguel Piero PARFAIT: A young male convict who is sexually desired by fellow prisoners. PING: Big shot; literally, big dick. PLEXES: Psychological complexes. PROGRAM: The dos and donts of prison life. Programs are ethnically determined: they are different for whites, blacks, Puerto Ricans, etc. Programs are not enforced by prison authorities; they are determined by the prisoners themselves. The program for the whole prison population regulates the way in which members of different ethnic groups relate to one another in specific situations. It rigidly governs who sits with whom in the mess hall, where people sit in the auditorium, who smokes first, etc. It is the first thing a prisoner learns when he enters an institution. Failure to follow the program is a sure way to have trouble with fellow inmates and will result in physical reprisals sometimes death. RUB IT ON YOUR CHEST: Forget about it. RUN IT: Go ahead and tell your story. RUN IT IN THE HOLE: Do something so many times that it becomes boring; needless repetition. SALAAM ALAIKUM: (From the Arabic) Peace be with you. SHORT EYES: Child molester; according to prisoners, the lowest, most despicable kind of criminal. SHORT HEIST: Any kind of pornography. SNAKE: A homosexual. SNAKE CHARMER: A straight prisoner who aggressively tries to get snakes to satisfy his sexual needs. SQUEEZE: A blatant male homosexual, a queen. STUFF: A male homosexual (not as blatant as squeeze). TEAROOM: Mens room, especially in subways, where homosexuals seek sexual contact with each other. To cruise the tearoom is to go into a mens room for homosexual purposes. TOASTS: Long epic poems created and recited by prisoners for diversion. Running toasts is a favorite pastime of prisoners, and those who are good at it are likely to become popular with fellow
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Short Eyes inmates. Standard toasts are toasts that have been committed to memory and are still recited long after their creators are gone. Favorite standard toasts are King Heroin, The Ball of the Freaks and The Fall of the Pimp. VAMP: Attack someone. WIRE: (As in to put out a wire on someone) A false rumor or untrue story. YACOUB: White man, honky, devil.

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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool

Characters VIEJO JUSTICE CHILE GIRL CAT EYES PHEBE REED WILLIE B BODEGA KAHLU JR. BALLOON ROSA DIAMOND RING SATISFACTION LEFTY G GORILLA BAM-BAM BOY A MAN A PROSTITUTE

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Miguel Piero ACT I Actors come in from hustling on the streets with the audience. SETTING: A bar in a large city, the time is NOW . . . its about midnight and the place is preparing for business. This is a place for the hustlers and players of the city. All the people are extremely well-dressed. Theres soft jazz coming out of the jukebox. There is a large sign over the bar: PUSHERS, IF YOU ARE BUSTED PUSHING IN HERE, YOU WILL BE PUSHED INTO YOUR GRAVE. ONSTAGE: LEFTY at bar. CHILE and VIVA are running through a song at the piano. PHEBE enters with two prostitutes. PHEBE: With me it was in a pickup truck . . . I was hitching a runaway . . . where I was going I didnt know, but I was leaving where I was coming from . . . this guy pulls up and lets me in. PROSTITUTE: Why was you running away from home? PHEBE: Its a long story . . . one thing was my daddy. He was, well, hard to describe. He was a slob. . . a real slob . . . always fighting with my mother . . . and, well, once he found out that I screwed his brother . . . Actually it was the other way around. He screwed me cause I really didnt know what I was doing, being just eight years old. And my father instead of fucking up his brother, he took some money from him and kept quiet about the whole thing. I heard them in the living room . . . and my father was saying, well, she might as well learn to make money out of it. Like, one day the family went out to do some shopping and I stayed home. It was hot so I was taking a shower and he came into the bathroom and took off his clothes and jumped in the shower with me and he started telling me how he fed me, clothed me, housed me, the whole number. And then he did the same thing that his brother did and told me not to say anything to mom. I then knew that what he was doing was something that was not right. But as the years went by, he stayed away from me, but I just couldnt stand to be around him. So one day I just got what little things I had and split. . . . PROSTITUTE: You know, you sure take a long time to get where youre going. PHEBE: Okay . . . Okay . . . well, this guy pulls over and tells me that he knew that I was a working girl and I thought that he meant that
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool I had a job . . . then he asked me for a job . . . and I told him I cant give you a job. I didnt owned anything for him . . . and he said, Come on, woman, you understand what I mean. Maybe where you come from they have another name for it, but I want a blow job. . . . So I start to blow air at him . . . then he said, Oh, I see, money takes the action with you, huh? Okay . . . here. Pulls out ten dollars, hands it to me. Pulls out his dick, shoves it in my mouth and when it over, he had to pull me away cause I didnt know when he wanted me to stop. He tells me that I work out good and what was my regular place of work. I told him I didnt have any and he took me to meet this woman who ran a bar. Well, from there on I just said to myself, Well, this is one way of living and its easy and I really get down to it. I kinda enjoy the work in a way. . . . Well, a few years back I came up North and here I am. CHILE: Boring. LEFTY G.: Listen, get your back off the bar . . . you know better than giving your back to the bar. PHEBE: You know something, Lefty, for an old motherfucker, you got a nerve to talk to me. CHILE: Why not run the bar on the sap, Lefty? Teach her a lesson. PHEBE: Why dont you mind your own business. CHILE: Phebe, this is my business, and if you open up them painted bubble gum lips of yours again . . . Ill shove that blond wig down your throat, bitch. PHEBE: Ohhh, go bitch, go on . . . come, thats right, just one step more. (Pulls out a straight razor.) LEFTY G.: Put that razor down, woman, or theyll be putting a tag on your big toe tonight . . . you hear me, woman? JUSTICE: Hey. What the hell is going on here? LEFTY G.: This bitch with the razor . JUSTICE: Woman, put that thing away. . . . Lefty, I want you to count to ten, and if that thing aint on the floor, I want you to put a hole in her head. LEFTY G.: Right . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . PHEBE: Hold it . . . hold it. Okay, there. Justice, she aint got no right calling me a sap. LEFTY G.: Chile said I should run the bar on her. CHILE: She was going to cut me with that razor.
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Miguel Piero JUSTICE: Its your stroke . . . stroke it. Kick her ass. CHILE: Come, bitch. Ill whip your tight little ass like I own you . . . bitch . . . (They begin to fight.) BAM-BAM: Mtala, Chile. . . mata a la cabrona, mtala . . . Ooooh, pantaletas sucias . . . bien chingada. JUSTICE: Okay, Chile girl, thats enough, you proved your point. Bam-Bam, get your ass in the kitchen. CHILE: Next time you pull a razor on me, Ill cut you from your throat to your trick-filled pussy . . . bitch. PHEBE: You called me a sap. JUSTICE: Thats just what you are . . . a sap. . . . You disrespect my place, and then you pull a razor on my girl, and you goddam well knew you wasnt going to use the damn thing. . . cuz you aint ready to die. PHEBE: Please, Justice, Im sorry. JUSTICE: Sorry, didnt do it . . . Phebe Reed did. Whos your man now? PHEBE: Cat Eyes. (CHILE crosses to her.) JUSTICE: Cat Eyes, huh? . . . Run the bar on her. LEFTY G.: Aint nobody here, Justice, but Viejo. JUSTICE: Viejo . . . where is he? LEFTY G.: In the bathroom taking a shit. JUSTICE: I dont need all the details, Lefty. Why didnt you tell me he was here? LEFTY G.: I couldnt . . . not with that bitch giving us all this static. JUSTICE: Run an hour on her. PHEBE: Justice . . . please, Cat Eyes will kill me. JUSTICE: He aint gonna kill you, just touch you up a bit . . . the very thing you need, too. Chile, tell Cat Eyes I wanna see him when he come in. PHEBE: Please, Justice, give me some. JUSTICE: Okay, you got some justice . . . next time. Hey, holy shitballs . . . Viejo, you fowl, stink-breath, low-lifed, high-living son of a street-walker, how the fuck you been? VIEJO: Hey, toilet-bowl mouth, long time no see, man. PHEBE: Justice, this motherfucker eighty-sixed me. JUSTICE: I already told you, you copped. Right? Now kindly vacate these premises and do not enter again through them doors, unless you are accompanied by your man or a john. Is that clear?
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool PHEBE: Thank you. JUSTICE: Put an egg in your shoe and beat it! VIEJO: Qu pasa with her? JUSTICE: Violated nmero uno house rule. VIEJO: Still the same rules, huh? JUSTICE: Oh, fuck you . . . and get your back off the bar, you gray-ass, high-yellow, Puerto Rican nigger. LEFTY G.: Want me to run the bar on him, Justice. JUSTICE: You could if you wanna . . . but I think Chile girl will crack your skull for you if you do. LEFTY G.: Blood is thicker than whiskey. JUSTICE: Viejo, its now been . . . VIEJO: Five years, two weeks and three days. JUSTICE: You been in, huh? I thought so. VIEJO: Hows things been going? JUSTICE: Not bad. On Saturdays I make as much money from the undercoversplainclothes and provocateursas I do from the players. VIEJO: Tap? JUSTICE: The whole joint. VIEJO: Bad scene. JUSTICE: Its them so-called revolutionary, loud-mouth militants using places like these to make their meetings. Then the pushers come in after the law come out. LEFTY G.: Sons of bitches. JUSTICE: . . . Made things worse for all. See the sign? Dont think I put that up. All those that signed it did . . . and let me tell you, its been enforced more than once. Believe me. VIEJO: I see no reason not to. JUSTICE: I dont mean it that way. Everybody knows that when you fell into dealing drugs, it was because of . . . VIEJO: Everybody knows? JUSTICE: Well, everybody that counts. VIEJO: Chile? JUSTICE: Yeah . . . I guess she got ears. VIEJO: She not? JUSTICE: No, shes cool. Goes to college in the day, works here at night . . . she been like a daughter to me. VIEJO: And youve been like a father.
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Miguel Piero JUSTICE: As much as a father as you wouldve been. VIEJO: Vaya, thats cool. JUSTICE: Youre off for good? No extra change hanging around somewhere . . . is there? VIEJO: Nothing hanging loose. Everything is tightened up. JUSTICE: Max-out? All of it? VIEJO: Every dime of it, that includes delinquent too. JUSTICE: Well, thats really good to hear . . . Lefty G. LEFTY G.: God listens to those who speak. VIEJO: And the devil listens to those who whisper. JUSTICE: You remember, huh? LEFTY G.: Two points for El Viejo. JUSTICE: Lefty G., put a tab up for Viejo. LEFTY G.: You got it. JUSTICE: Had a chance to cop some combo with Chile? VIEJO: Negative, that thing about the cracked skull was cute, but I get the feeling it would have been my head and not Lefty Gs. JUSTICE: You sell yourself too short. VIEJO: Perhaps, quizs, pero I still feel it. JUSTICE: Its all in your mind. You know every time someone comes out of the joint its paranoid time. VIEJO: Run that shit under somebody elses belt, not mine. JUSTICE: Ill prove it to you. VIEJO: Later . . . right now tell me why the streets are so empty of players. JUSTICE: There are players in the streets, just that things change. Some players are not into the same kinda things we were into. You looking for a game? Or are you gonna shoot your regular. VIEJO: Ill do some scouting first . . . before I go into the field. JUSTICE: Hey, Chile, come here. VIEJO: I told you later. JUSTICE: But I thought. VIEJO: You shouldnt think for me . . . Im capable of doing my own. JUSTICE: Okay, what is the matter? Why the rocks? VIEJO: I havent any rocks. Look, all I wanna find out is how is everything and everybody doing. JUSTICE: Well, let me put it to you this way, Viejo. Everything is everything . . . and everybody is either breathing or not. Youre scared?
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool VIEJO: Me? No . . . well, okay, damn it, I am. JUSTICE: Why? VIEJO: Look. What am I supposed to say to her? Hi, Im Luis Rivera. Im the spick who turned your mother into a whore and dragged her down into drug addiction with me, into prisons and hospitals, and abandoned you to a players bar? I never gave her anything worth having. JUSTICE: Wait a minute, If I remember correctly . . . there was a ten-thousand-dollar bank account in her name when you left her in my house. VIEJO: Your memory is beautiful, but that was only material things. JUSTICE: What are you talking about material things? What else is there? VIEJO: Theres things that money cant buy, something of value . . . from the soul of love . . . something spiritual. JUSTICE: From the soul of love . . . are you for real? Where the hell were you? In some prison, or a maharishi guru retreat? Whats gotten into you? This isnt the Viejo I know or knew. VIEJO: Sometimes I wonder myself . . . I guess its age and time. You know something? The first time we went to the joint . . . nothing, time slipped by so fast that I was swift and clean with my mitts copped what I needed, and kept something extra just in case I ran out. This time the bit put a hurting on my ass. This time I woke up to find a very rude awakening waiting for me in the mirror. JUSTICE: Okay. You woke up to a certain fact of life, that once meant shit to you, and means the same to millions of others. But she is your flesh and blood . . . VIEJO: Jake, I dont know if I can handle it. JUSTICE: Theres only one way to find out. Right? Well? VIEJO: Dont go too far. JUSTICE: Fuck you . . . now straighten yourself up. . . . Chile, you got some time for yourself. CHILE: Good, Ill go get something to eat . . . I hate the food here. (Begins to leave.) JUSTICE: Thats not what I mean. . . . (SHE returns.) Viejo would like to talk to you. CHILE: He has nothing to say . . . anyway, not to me, Justice. JUSTICE: Hes your father. CHILE: In name only.
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Miguel Piero JUSTICE: He needs you, Chile. CHILE: I needed him when I was young. JUSTICE: Chile . . . dont do that to him. CHILE: He did it to himself. And if thats why you gave me some time off for myself. . . Ill go back to work. JUSTICE: Go back to work . . . hes a customer. Treat him like one, his table is lonely . . . his glass is empty. CHILE: Yessum bossem. (Cross to VIEJO.) VIEJO: Hi. CHILE: Your glass is empty. VIEJO: S, yo s. Cmo est mi hija? CHILE: Sorry I dont speak Spanish. VIEJO: Chile . . . (Enter JR. BALLOON with ROSA.) JR. BALLOON: Why is there no music in this place? JUSTICE: Cause we was all waiting for the rhythm to arrive. JR. BALLOON: I am here. JUSTICE: And theres the box. (Motions ROSA to the jukebox.) CHILE: Customers. VIEJO: Chile. CHILE: Customers . . . see you around some time. (Music begins. JR. BALLOON dances with CHILE and ROSA.) JR. BALLOON: Hey, Justice . . . what do you think about this girl putting a make-believe beauty mark on her face without my permission? ROSA: But, baby, I did it for you. JR. BALLOON: I was talking to Justice. Girl, you been beginning to take too many liberties. . . . Girl, you keep that mouth of yours running when it should be closed, Im gonna have to run you down to the East Side with those transvestites. JUSTICE: The beauty mark adds essence to her beauty, Junior Balloon. CHILE: She should have something black about her. (Serves drinks to everybody.) JR. BALLOON: Good . . . good, give the young lady two points. Shes learning too much from you, Justice. JUSTICE: Like father, like daughter. Thats what some fool said. JR. BALLOON: Go find us a nice table, Rosa. JUSTICE: All the tables are nice, Junior Balloon. JR. BALLOON: What would you do without my business? (Enter WILLIE BODEGA with KAHLU.)
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool JUSTICE: Celebrate! WILLIE BODEGA: Lefty . . . hey, whats going on? Junior Balloon . . . Justice. JR. BALLOON: Well, if it aint the talking gringo. . . . Hit any grocery stores lately? WILLIE BODEGA: Funny . . . funny . . . you got a nerve talking. You look more like an advertising for a macaroni clothing store. JR. BALLOON: Poorly. Who writes your material? WILLIE BODEGA: The same joker that made your suit. Your moneys calling you. JR. BALLOON: Yeah, but theres no police thirty-eights coming from that moneymaker. WILLIE BODEGA: Lefty, let me have. . . LEFTY G.: You can have anything and as many as you want . . . the tab is on Cat Eyes. WILLIE BODEGA: Well, in that case, let me have a bottle of your best champagne. JR. BALLOON: You mean to tell me you let me put money on the counter? LEFTY G.: You always said you got it like the feds. JR. BALLOON: Yeah, but when its free? And the competition is paying? Well, thats another story altogether. JUSTICE: You should never acknowledge competition, Junior Balloon. It can slow you down worrying about it. JR. BALLOON: Who worries? The way I see it, theres enough for everyone that can handle it. WILLIE BODEGA: No one gives Junior Balloon any compo. JR. BALLOON: You tell em, whitey. June, the month of love. Love, the bug you just cant slap away. WILLIE BODEGA: California? This is the best? How we gonna toast with grape juice? (Pop! Piano fanfare.) Heres to the hustle. (Fanfare.) JR. BALLOON: And the hustlers. (Fanfare.) VIEJO: And to the suckers. WILLIE BODEGA: The suckers. VIEJO: Who without there would be no hustle . . . or hustlers. JR. BALLOON: Suck my left nut. Am I seeing who Im seeing? Viejo.
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Miguel Piero VIEJO: Junior . . . Willie . . . long time. I see you two are still on each others cases. WILLIE BODEGA: Cant shake the snake charmer loose. JUSTICE: We didnt steal it. We took it. JR. BALLOON: You and your brother should have never stolen my lunch money. Justice, you aint shit. You stand there, knowing the old man is in town, and dont let up on it. . . . Shit. JUSTICE: The toilet is that way. JR. BALLOON: What are you doing, old man? VIEJO: Well, nothing as of yet, just looking over the store. WILLIE BODEGA: You got ends? VIEJO: Got enough to see me over any humps. . . . JR. BALLOON: Hows your collar? VIEJO: My collar is tighter than a pimps hatband. JR. BALLOON: Ill have it loosen for you tonight. . . . Rosa, come here, mama. (Cross ROSA to JR. who motions, turns her towards VIEJO. ROSA crosses to VIEJO.) ROSA: Hi. JR. BALLOON: This here is one fine, moneymaking hoe . . . most of the bread I made with her head. Just give her your address and she is yours for as long as it takes . . . but remember, just for that long, not longer than that. VIEJO: She young. JR. BALLOON: She old enough. Can you handle it, mama? ROSA: Anything you say . . . but he old. JR. BALLOON: Dont let snow fool you, there plenty of oil in the basement. (Laughs.) WILLIE BODEGA: Jesus H. Christ! Junior Balloon, you tell the corniest jokes . . . and then he laughs at them too. I dont see what they see . . . JR. BALLOON: Mama, tell this near-sighted fool what you see in Junior. ROSA: June. JR. BALLOON: And thats all they wanna see, cause they dont wanna see the winter in me. . . . Okay, mama, go back there and look pretty. ROSA: Old man, when I get through with you, youll be in your second childhood.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool JR. BALLOON: Thats why you could never make it as a Mack. You never let a woman see what she wants to see, but what you want her to see. This way, she is always looking for something to see. VIEJO: I see, said the blind man . . . to his deaf daughter. WILLIE BODEGA: I know this payroll clerk whos given me all the details of his route. He has pocket money for both of us . . . ten Gs apiece. VIEJO: Is it a two-man job? WILLIE BODEGA: Sure. VIEJO: Your word? WILLIE BODEGA: No, not really, but you know things sometimes happen, and . . . VIEJO: No thanks . . . I dont play alarm clock. WILLIE BODEGA: Just trying to be helpful. VIEJO: I know, thank you, but I am not looking for welfare. WILLIE BODEGA: Excuse me for living . . . shit! JR. BALLOON: Why be like that, old man? He only trying to be helpful . . . hes a heist kid, thats all he knows. VIEJO: Youre right, I dont know where my head was there. Excuse me, Ill go apologize . . . Willie, look, I didnt mean to sound like that. WILLIE BODEGA: Thats okay . . . I was out of line, but you did teach me everything I know about the business. VIEJO: Let me buy you a drink. WILLIE BODEGA: Havent you heard? The drinks are on Cat Eyes. CAT EYES: (Entering.) Hold it! Hold it! Wait a minute. Now . . . whats this about the drinks on me? I dont remember ever inviting you to drink with me. JUSTICE: Well, you invited everybody for an hour of free drinks tonight. PHEBE: They are running the bar on you, Papi. CAT EYES: Running the bar on me? Justice, you must be clear out of your mind . . . I aint paying for nobodys drinks. JUSTICE: Cat Eyes, there are many unwritten rules in the game that you play . . . this is a hustlers place . . . all my customers are players, and they go with the rules . . . the same ones that are out in the street apply here. One . . . the major, is respect . . . you dont disrespect the place . . . if you turn your back on the bar, you disrespect me . . . and if you disrespect . . . you pay.
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Miguel Piero CAT EYES: I have never placed my back on the bar. JUSTICE: She did . . . shes yours . . . youre responsible. CAT EYES: You didnt tell me this. You embarrassed me in front of all these people. Get out . . . and I dont want to see you at home. I want you in them streets until your soles waste. Get out. Beat it. (Turns to JUSTICE.) Heres a couple of hundred, Justice, this should cover it. JUSTICE: Man, goddam, you young. Look here, brotherman, it has nothing to do with the bread, cant you get that through your head? You aint cool at all, are you? I mean, you need some type of schooling, man. If you dont get your head together, you gonna end up with a teacher. CAT EYES: Yeah, who? JUSTICE: Me . . . I make a good principal, brotherman. CAT EYES: And I never made a good student. WILLIE BODEGA: Thats why you a dropout in the players game. JR. BALLOON: Pendejito . . . asshole. CAT EYES: Oye, t no me conoce a m. You dont know me. JR. BALLOON: And I dont really want to either, bro. WILLIE BODEGA: Man, you aint got no kind of class, do you? CAT EYES: Who the fuck is this fucking gringo talking to? WILLIE BODEGA: Unless you a wall, motherfucker, Im talking to you. CAT EYES: Better dig yourself, mister. (CAT EYES reaches inside jacket.) WILLIE BODEGA: You do right calling me mister. JR. BALLOON: Better not go for it, kid. WILLIE BODEGA: Guess at your age you wanna call it a game of cards. JUSTICE: Willie Bodega. WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, Justice, Im cool, man, Im cool. CAT EYES: He better be or he be dead soon. You dig? WILLIE BODEGA: (Going for gun. Everyone clears.) Now, where have I heard that rap before? JUSTICE: Junior . . . Willie . . . I mean it. WILLIE BODEGA: Okay, Willie B. aint gonna cause you no damages. CHILE: Look, if you aint gonna put no money on the tab, then book out of here.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool CAT EYES: Okay, I take the tab . . . I can afford it. (Staring at WILLIE.) JUSTICE: You cant afford it. LEFTY G.: Well, what you gonna do, young blood? You stare real hard. WILLIE BODEGA: He must practice . . . in front of the mirror. JR. BALLOON: Come on . . . sit down already, Willie . . . leave the dude now. WILLIE BODEGA: I aint bothering him. CAT EYES: Your breath is. WILLIE BODEGA: Oh my, oh my . . . next thing he gonna do is talk about my mother. Oh my, oh my. . . I feel so rotten, boo hoo . . . Ill weep for days behind that statement. JR. BALLOON: Willie . . . WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, okay, Junior. JR. BALLOON: Man, it aint you Im worrying about, man, its Justices place, man . . . you know the place is hot. WILLIE BODEGA: Look, man, Im gonna squash this here bullshit between me and you, kid . . . but I just wonna drop something on you before I do squash it. CAT EYES: Make it short. WILLIE BODEGA: As short as it takes, man. Man, if you wanna be a player, you got to realize that everything that jumps your way aint threatening your manhood, brotherman. CAT EYES: A whitey that raps like a nigger. Aint that something? WILLIE BODEGA: No, that aint nothing, man. I just rap this way cuz that the way I raps . . . but what I wanna tell you is this, young blood . . . the man been in the game before you crawls out of your mamas cunt, and this man told you, rightly so too, that your lady disrespected the place, and there was no kind of shit jumping your way, man. All you had to do, if you really think yourself as being what you are, a man, is, man, that you apologize to the place and accept the play, man, to you . . . thats all. No big thing, no big money coming out of your pocket . . . no big thing being taken out of your hustle, man. Nothing, man, nothing at all . . . but you gotta jump stink right quick on the place, because you think everybody is out to make you or take something away from you. Thats too bad, man . . . cuz you aint never gonna learn to trust, man, and thats real bad . . . cuz if you cant trust, then you
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Miguel Piero cant ever relax and enjoy the stings you make. Can you dig it, man? And you wanna know something? The run of the tab on you was just a way of Justice letting you know that you blew it in here with him and that you should be aware of it. Like on the streets a knife in your gut or a bullet in your head would have been the respond, and I guess thats what you think that you are supposed to respect, the force, and fuck the rest of the real attitude. CAT EYES: Man, you talk too much. WILLIE BODEGA: I guess that I do, cuz I like you and your motherfucking arrogance. JUSTICE: Man, brotherman, you better believe that he likes you for reasons known only to him. CAT EYES: Maybe hes a faggot. JUSTICE: You want your table? CAT EYES: Yeah. CHILE: Its ready. (Cross LEFTY with drinks on tray.) JR. BALLOON: Hey, Lefty. . . can you dance, man? LEFTY G.: Sure. VIEJO: So thats what out here on the streets making the money, huh? JUSTICE: Yeah, thats what out here, man. That aint nothing. Wait till you see the rest parading around, man. DIAMOND: Man, Justice, I . . . I . . . man, tell me something quick, man, like . . . like this dude, man . . . Im gonna waste the motherfucker, Im gonna waste the motherfucker. MAN: Thatll be the last motherfucker youll ever try to waste too. (DIAMOND angrily heads toward MAN, but JUSTICE restrains him.) JUSTICE: Man, calm down, man, calm down . . . like, what the hell, man. (DIAMOND calms down a bit and walks around acknowledging everyone.) DIAMOND: Who that? JUSTICE: This here is Viejo, man, a really down to the . . . DIAMOND: Thats the dude you be rappin about, man? Hey, whats happening? VIEJO: Right now youre whats happening, brotherman. DIAMOND: Thank you. JUSTICE: Now, who is this that you gonna kill this time, man? WILLIE BODEGA: Hes always killing somebody.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool DIAMOND: No, this time Im for real, Willie, really for real, man. You know what this dude did outside to me . . . to me, Diamond Ring, the baddest Mack-O-Roni that ever jumped out of the cooker. This dude out there sold me a motherfucking . . . a motherfucking wolf ticket in front of my woman, man, in front of my ladies. See, Willie? This time is serious business. WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, man, real serious. DIAMOND: Him and his boys. WILLIE BODEGA: You aint got no piece, man? DIAMOND: Have you ever known me to wake up without brushing my teeth with my three roscoes? WILLIE BODEGA: Then why are you in here rappin about it? DIAMOND: Man, this dude, this punk, called me out in front of the motherfucking cops . . . in front of the cops, man. Thats why Im here, man, cuz or else . . . you know what it all about, man. Man, I got to get my feelings out or else I be out there with these two dudes dead at my feet, facing the motherfucking police, man, and you know about me, man, I hold court in the streets, man, I cant do no time. CAT EYES: Thats why people worry about him knowing too much. DIAMOND: You talking bout me? JUSTICE: That kind of talk is not allowed here, mister. CAT EYES: Its a free country. JUSTICE: Since when? WILLIE BODEGA: Be cool, Diamond. Hes a little hot cuz Justice is running the bar on him. DIAMOND: Give me four bottles of the best champagne that you got, Just. CAT EYES: Thats the only way you can get it . . . when its free. DIAMOND: Make it eight. JUSTICE: No, man, you cant do that. DIAMOND: Why not? JUSTICE: You aint gonna drink them, man, thats why. . . and I hate seeing good champagne going to waste. DIAMOND: Ill drink them, besides, I got friends that will help me. (Everyone tinkles their glasses.) JUSTICE: Oh, shit, here we go with another drunk. . . . Lefty, give Diamond a bottle of champagne. LEFTY G.: Right.
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Miguel Piero DIAMOND: Oooh, come on, Justice, my pockets grow hungry out there. I mean, if you gonna give away welfare . . . give me some. LEFTY G.: Hey, Diamond . . . you did right, man, walking away. There will be another time. JUSTICE: There always is, remember that, there always is, another time. DIAMOND: I will, cuz I believe it, man. CHILE: Your table is ready, Diamond. DIAMOND: Thank you. (Looks at CAT EYES and kisses CHILE.) Show me the way. Hey, Old Man, care to drink with me? (Enter KAHLU from ladies room.) VIEJO: No, thank you, young blood. DIAMOND: Suit yourself. CAT EYES: Hey, baby. CHILE: My name is Chile. CAT EYES: Come here, girl. CHILE: What do you want, sir? CAT EYES: Hey, man, come on . . . dont do that to me. CHILE: The way I see it you are doing it to yourself. CAT EYES: Come on, baby, be nice. CHILE: Have you ever seen me be mean? CAT EYES: What do you call what you are doing to me being? CHILE: Natural. CAT EYES: Hate to see you in the mornings. CHILE: Really? CAT EYES: Now, what the hell did I do to receive this treatment? CHILE: You dont know? CAT EYES: Girl, if I did I wouldnt be asking, now would I? CHILE: Can never tell about you. CAT EYES: Now, what is that suppose to mean? CHILE: Just what, I said, thats all. CAT EYES: Come, baby, sit down for a second with me, lets rap this here thing out between you and me real nice and quiet-like. CHILE: Im working. CAT EYES: Take some time off. JUSTICE: Chile, you gonna host or you gonna play the host? CHILE: I have some time for myself, remember you said so. JUSTICE: Yeah. CHILE: What you got to say to me? It better be good.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool CAT EYES: Now why does it have to be good? You act like Im suppose to always drop a line on you if I want your attention. CHILE: Your behavior tonight was enough to grab anyones attention. CAT EYES: Oh, is that it? CHILE: Yes, thats it. CAT EYES: Listen, I cant let these older dudes try to run over me. Most of them think that cause they been out on this thing longer than god, man, they think they are self-appointed teachers of the play. Everyone and their mother wants to run a school for P.I.s. Aint that a kick in the ass? CHILE: Carlos. CAT EYES: Dont call me Carlos here . . . Im sorry, baby. CHILE: Thats okay, Cat Eyes. CAT EYES: Come, baby. Why the ice? . . . Melt, baby, melt on me. I get enough cold weather in them streets, baby, dont you start snowing on me too. CHILE: Im sorry, baby. CAT EYES: How about a kiss? CHILE: Not in here . . . Justice will blow a fuse. CAT EYES: You said he aint your father . . . not your real father. CHILE: Oh, but he is . . . as real as any other girls father is to them. CAT EYES: Okay, baby, but I dont like playing high school boyfriend. CHILE: I aint asking you to play anything at all. CAT EYES: Lets squash the whole thing and let me rap to you seriously, baby. CHILE: Im always listening to you. CAT EYES: Like I told you last time, baby, I want out but I need me to make some money. I dont wanna work in no place for some lousy weekly salary that costs you your fucking life, baby, thats not for me. No, I needs something more of value than that, baby . . . I need to go on for about a year. And then you know what I wanna do, baby? I wanna open up something like this, to be cool just like Justice is. I mean something that brings you respect as well as a decent living, as I know living to be. Like you know what I mean, baby? Do I make any kind of sense to you, baby? CHILE: You sound like Viejo. CAT EYES: The Viejo? CHILE: Thats him over there.
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Miguel Piero CAT EYES: Shit, a legend in person. You know him? CHILE: Yeah, I do. CAT EYES: Shit, now from him I wouldnt mind being schooled . . . though he dont look like much to me. CHILE: People change their ways over the years, papi. CAT EYES: So Ive been told. CHILE: Baby . . . CAT EYES: Yeah, you know him, huh? Maybe you could introduce me to him, real cool like. You know what I mean? CHILE: Baby, I dont want to introduce you to somebody like that. CAT EYES: A minute ago you sounded like you admired him. CHILE: Maybe I do, but I also hate him with a passion . . . I wish he were dead. CAT EYES: Thats kind of a strong wish for a beautiful girl like you. CHILE: Well, maybe not dead, but in the joint doing life where he belongs. CAT EYES: You only wish for the best. CHILE: Baby, lets drop him. Lets talk about us. (Kisses CAT EYES.) CAT EYES: Yeah, we never get enough time. Baby, I . . . I wanna open up a classy stable of girls thatll make these guys eyes pop out of their motherfucking . . . skulls. (Cross JUNIOR and ROSA to their table.) You know, girls with style . . . a private business . . . and I can do it, but I need your help, baby, I really need your help, baby. Please dont do that, baby, listen to me. Dont turn off on me . . . please, baby, listen to what I got to say first. CHILE: Im listening. CAT EYES: No, youre not. CHILE: Make it quick. CAT EYES: Ill make it short . . . goodbye. CHILE: What? CAT EYES: I said, Ill see you around sometime, baby. CHILE: Carlos. CAT EYES: Later, baby, later. (Crosses to VIEJO.) Hi . . . Cat Eyes is my name. VIEJO: Hi. CAT EYES: Can I buy you a drink? VIEJO: You already have. CAT EYES: Yeah, thats right . . . youre welcome.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool VIEJO: I didnt thank you. CAT EYES: No, you didnt. VIEJO: And I wasnt planning to either. CAT EYES: Whats the matter . . . you dont like me or something. VIEJO: Its not a matter of whether I like you or not. Even if I didnt, would that make a big difference in your life? CAT EYES: Not one bit of a difference. I was around before I met you and Ill be around after you hit that grass in the cemetery. You wanna blow? VIEJO: No, thanks, man, really. I just got out and Im trying to figure something out in my head for myself, first, before I make any kind of moves in any direction that aint considered legal by the state. Dig what I mean? CAT EYES: Yeah, that you is leary like a motherfucker. VIEJO: Thats a good lesson for a young blood like you to learn. When you are leary, you are careful . . . if youre careful, you survive in this here planet. If you take that into your brain for a moment each day, young blood, and with a little bit of luck, you might live to be my age. CAT EYES: I hope I never get that old. (Crosses to his table.) VIEJO: Thats just the same thing I said a long time ago. (Cross JUSTICE to VIEJOs table. Sits down.) JUSTICE: So you met Cat Eyes. VIEJO: No, he met me. CAT EYES: Thats what they all say. DIAMOND: You know something, Junior? Like, some people think they are players, you know what I mean? They really think they can do this here thing that we call the game . . . like they get themselves a couple of junkie broads, put them on the corner with a million kinds of disease dropping out of their eyes, as well as their cunts, like gonorrhea, syphilis . . . they buy themselves a flashy suit, from some wholesale store on Broadway, and jump into the scene calling themselves Pl.s. Man, they aint never seen a pimp unless they were shining his motherfucking shoes. CAT EYES: Fuck you, punk motherfucker. DIAMOND: Whats with the kid? Oh, you want to fuck me, kid? Maybe I should be out on the corner. (Various other ad-libs.) JR. BALLOON: How should I now, man? Maybe hes crazy or something.
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Miguel Piero DIAMOND: Must be. LEFTY G.: You okay, Cat Eyes? (Crosses to mens room.) DIAMOND: He probably had too much to drink . . . you know these young dudes, cant handle the firewater. JUSTICE: Chile, get me a clean glass, will you? CHILE: Cant you get it yourself? JUSTICE: Yes, I could, but I asked you. Didnt I? CHILE: You lazy motherfucker, you fat lazy . . . (Various other adlibs. Crosses to table.) JUSTICE: Shut up already, will you? Man, all day you been quibbering with the jibbering. Girl, I mean like, I dont know where you get all that from cuz it dont come from your papa, thats for sure, and it dont come from you mama and you can ask your papa about that. CHILE: How would he know? VIEJO: I did love her, Chile. In my own way, I loved your mother. CHILE: Sure, I bet. JUSTICE: How much? CHILE: His life . . . here . . . (Slams drink on table.) JUSTICE: Thank you. Maybe if you banged it a little harder it couldve broken and then you could start . . . CHILE: Up yours. JUSTICE: Is that for my health or my death? CHILE: Either way you want it. JUSTICE: Strong girl, aint she? VIEJO: Yeah, she is a strong woman. JUSTICE: See you in a little while. Im gonna talk with her. VIEJO: Okay, later. (Enter BAM-BAM, followed by SATISFACTION. BAM-BAM gives wallet to SATISFACTION and hides. SATISFACTION takes money out of wallet and gives it to DIAMOND RING and goes to lounge. Enter a Salesman, looks around and heads for lounge. DIAMOND RING follows. BAMBAM leaves.) ROSA: Are you ready to go, old man? VIEJO: In a little while, girl, in a little while. Let me finish my drink first. Okay? ROSA: Take your time . . . Junior said my only work today is you. VIEJO: Tell Junior I really appreciate it. ROSA: I will, old man.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool VIEJO: Hey, Rosa. ROSA: Yeah? VIEJO: Stop calling me old man . . . the name is Viejo. ROSA: Viejo. VIEJO: Right . . . (Salesman comes from lounge. Picks up wallet. Cashes check and leaves.) JR. BALLOON: Rosa, come here, girl, dance with me. WILLIE BODEGA: What make you think you can dance? JR. BALLOON: If you believed it hard enough, you might be able to get up on the floor too with a young lady wrapped in your arms. Right, Rosa? ROSA: Anything you say, daddy. WILLIE BODEGA: Man, Im gonna have to shut this mans mouth all up. Now you gonna look mighty silly, man. Come here, girl. DIAMOND: We got something going here. WILLIE BODEGA: (Handing his guns to LEFTY.) If I lose, shoot him. (KAHLU dances to WILLIE.) Diamond, put on a record with a hustle to it. JR. BALLOON: Man, put on some hot Latin. WILLIE BODEGA: Shit, man, that dont scare me none at all. JR. BALLOON: Okay, loosen up. (HE turns music off.) LEFTY G.: You know how this whitey got the name Willie Bodega? DIAMOND: Yeah, Lefty, we know. ROSA: I dont. LEFTY G.: Could I tell you then? Junior, can I tell her? JR. BALLOON: Man, we are about to have the dance contest of the century and you wanna tell her a dumb thing like that. LEFTY G.: It aint dumb. JR. BALLOON: Its about as dumb and dull a story as you are, Lefty. LEFTY G.: Im sorry, I wont say anything. DIAMOND: Hey, Lefty . . . Lefty Gorilla. JR. BALLOON: Go tell Rosa how he got his name. LEFTY G.: You mean it? JR. BALLOON: Of course, man, of course, man, I was just fucking with your head before . . . after you tell it, well have the dance contest. Is that cool with you, Willie B? WILLIE BODEGA: Thats cool with me . . . I always like listening as to how I became a spic.
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Miguel Piero LEFTY G.: You know, Rosa, before you was born we all use to hang out together as kids. Right, fellas? . . . Me and Justice are like that. Right, Justice? JUSTICE: Right. LEFTY G.: Yeah, man, it was the good old days. We started together doing everything, man, it was real cool. Like Justice and me, we would go to these places. Right? In uniforms of cleaning people and nobody would say anything to us and after the place was empty we would go into the offices and Justice would yell out, All those that wanna live, hit the floor. All those what wanna go to meet their maker remain on your feet. And the whole place be on the floor before you could blink your eyes . . . man, it was real cool. After we got some money we started doing other things. Like Justice became a big numbers man. Man, it was real cool. JR. BALLOON: Man, I dont think Justice would like you talking like that out here in the open, man, t sabe? LEFTY G.: We are among friends. Aint we? DIAMOND: Yeah, Lefty, thats true . . . but you know walls have ears and you guys did a lot of shit that aint accounted for yet. LEFTY G.: Yeah, that makes sense. Yeah. Well, you, Rosa, sometimes you are traveling so high on the hog that you forget where you are or who you are and how you got to where you are. Thats what happened to all of us within a couple of years; we were doing it so hard in those days that we forgot to be cool about ourselves, man, like we just didnt think and the next thing you know, we were all in Attica on 36 gallery. The fuck ups . . . thats what they say, man, we were getting over, wasnt we? . . . We sure was, man, we sure was. I use to cook and play bodyguard to the fellas and their young chickens, you know. These dudes were doing it up. Anyway, hard times always fall on all of us, sooner or later hard times are gonna fall and at that time we all looked out for one another. Right, fellas? We sure did, all that time. I remember the time we had to throw this guy off the tier because he thought we were fooling with him. Man, he swam in the air just like people swim in the water. It was really funny. Man, I had some real nice times in the joint in them days . . . I sure did. I had better times and friends in the joint than I ever did in the streets . . . in my life . . . in any place I ever went. When hard times fell on us we would look out for one another and all you had to do was say, Hey, hard
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool times are here for the brother, and we all knew better days would come . . . we all knew better days would come and better days would come . . . right around the corner. . . . And you know . . . I was never . . . no, thats not what I want to say. (Begins to leave.) ROSA: Lefty, Willie . . . Willie. (Everyone coaxes him on.) LEFTY G.: Willie . . . Willie . . . Oye, Willie, mira, Willie . . . let me cop some sugar. . . . Willie, me and you on the sandwich, man . . . Willie, you got some matches? And Willie, would say, man, you think this is welfare . . . Willie, you making some kool aid tonight? Me and you bro, just like it always been, me and you brother, me and you. And Willie say, You motherfucker must think Im a fucking bodega. WILLIE BODEGA: Goddam corner store. LEFTY G.: Willie Z Gallery Bodega. Willie Bodega, thats how he got his name. Me and Willie, we used to play handball for money. Money is cigarettes, you know, or he would have me fight some dude in the yard for money. You know? I use to fight real good, I could have been pro . . . you know I could have been pro, right, Willie? . . . Thats what they all said, I could have been pro. (Fights with DIAMOND RING. Gets out of hand. JUSTICE stops him.) Yeah, those were the good old days. Justice says we now are into the good new days. Thats funny, aint it? I mean the way Willie Bodega got his name. DIAMOND: Thats funny, Lefty . . . real funny. LEFTY G.: You know something, I wasnt going to say this before, but I will now. When I was in the joint with them . . . I was never lonely. (Crosses to bar.) DIAMOND: Lets have the dance. (JR. BALLOON turns music back on.) CAT EYES: Man, that dude is a head blower. VIEJO: You know something, Cat Eyes? Your experience is very limited. CAT EYES: You got the same type of attitude the rest of these niggers have. You think you know it all. VIEJO: I know that theres a lot I dont know . . . and I also know that the only way I am going to learn the things I need to know is if I admit that I need to know these things.
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Miguel Piero CAT EYES: You sure must have done a lot of time in the joint. When I was in the joint, all the long-time-doing motherfuckers talk like you talk, man. VIEJO: And how is that? CAT EYES: Like they see things. VIEJO: Thats because they did. And I bet you saw nothing in what they saw. Right? CAT EYES: Right. They all talk nonsense. VIEJO: Thats too bad. That is why you think the way you do now. CAT EYES: I think all right and I do all right, too. VIEJO: Not in the circle you dont. I can feel it and I am here fresh off the banana boat. CAT EYES: Look, man, I dont care what them motherfuckers think about me and my game, Im getting over. Thats what counts. I pay my bills and eat good food . . . and I fuck every night. VIEJO: So does the warden. CAT EYES: Man, let me tell you something. VIEJO: Something I dont know? . . . Something that has meaning? Or the I told the hoe to sell the kid but keep the Cadillac cuz I need the wheels to move, kinda shit? CAT EYES: You see them dudes? They think they got it made. VIEJO: Dont you? CAT EYES: They got some of it made, but not all of it. They got themselves years ahead of me in the game . . . plenty of time in the life to learn much experience. But me, I came fast, Viejo, faster than any of them. Thats why they dont like me, cuz they all know that Im swifter than any of them were at my age, man. I am a young blood fresh off the doctors mitts. You know I still have the smell of the afterbirth hanging about me . . . but Im swifter than those people who call themselves folks, and have the smell of death in the breath. Me? I am new life, Viejo, I am new life. You think I dont know they are jealous of me and my fast-talking self. Man. I know that. Shit, that is why I talk to them the way I do cuz I know that. You think I may be wrong, but Im not . . . Im not . . . Viejo, my rap is strong and my words are never wrong. Im young and faster than a streak of lightning and a ball of heat . . . and I always land on my feet ever since I could remember I never touched the floor with my knees. You see that girl, Chile, they all wanted her but they all fear Justice and Lefty Gori272

The Sun Always Shines for the Cool lla, but not me cuz their time is up on the earth. I know that his is a jungle law . . . (Enter BAM-BAM and SATISFACTION.) and Im steaking my name to that game. She is gonna make me a very wealthy man, my man. She is gonna put me on the mack map of the year . . . every year until doomsday. VIEJO: Are you saying what I think you are saying? CAT EYES: Thats right, mister. Im gonna turn her sweet ass out. VIEJO: I cant let you do that. CAT EYES: What you mean you cant let me do that? Who the fuck are you? Oh, you wanna turn her out there for yourself. Is that it? VIEJO: You dont seem to understand. She isnt going out to the way of all flesh. CAT EYES: You dont seem to understand you cant stop me cuz she loves me . . . and besides . . . why the fuck are you telling me some shit like that if you dont want her as a pimp? Why the fuck are you playing boy scout? VIEJO: Im her father. (Montage. Activity of bar takes over, dancing, ad-libs, music building to end of Act One. Freeze.)

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Miguel Piero ACT II SCENE 1. A small hotel room. ROSA: Come, Papi . . . get it on. Oh, Papi, get it on . . . come on, baby. Shit, wait a fucking minute, man . . . whats happening, old man? We been in this damn bed for a half an hour and all you be doing is slobbering all over me . . . and your johnson aint even hard. Whats the matter, man? Are you too old to get it up any more? VIEJO: Shut up, bitch. ROSA: Oh, now its the shut-up-bitch routine. Huh? What you gonna do, old man? Ha . . . look at this . . . its as dead as a corpse in the city morgue. So what you gonna do, Mister Viejo? . . . the master of the hustle . . . what you gonna do? Hey, whats the matter? The cat got your tongue? You lost your voice as well as your strength to do it? Shit, I lay in the bed and I get a tongue bath. . . man, I can dig a little tongue, but too much of it makes me horny, honey, and you shouldnt be out here giving up all this tongue if you cant give up anything else. . . . I dont wanna be sucked off like a lesbian, I wanna be fucked like a woman. VIEJO: You going too far with your mouth, hoe. ROSA: Not as far as you went with yours, old man. VIEJO: Stop calling me old man. You know my name. ROSA: Yes, Viejo, which means old man in Spanish. VIEJO: . . . In Spanish not in English. ROSA: Does that rule also go for your fucking abilities? VIEJO: What you talking about? ROSA: That you can fuck in Spanish but not in English? (Grabs her trying somehow by violence to retain his sexual potency. SHE fights then lays back and laughs.) VIEJO: Shit. . . goddamn it. ROSA: I guess that its true what I hear the folks rappin about men who spent most of their lives behind bars. They become nothing with their dicks, No-dick Ricks . . . cant get it uppers . . . unless the other person is a young boy like Cat Eyes, huh? I saw the way you stared at him before we left the bar . . . I bet if he was in this room with you, youd be jumping with joy . . . happier than a faggot in Boys Town. Whats your score, old man . . . little boys or little girls?
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool VIEJO: Shut the fuck up, bitch. I said shut the fuck up. (Grabs pillow and beats her.) ROSA: Go on, hit me some more. . . . Thats your speed, you like beating up on women. . . . Now, look, it aint even hard . . . ahaha . . . oh, thats not your speed either. Is it? Maybe you like being whipped. Ive got a nice leather whip. Ill look. Here. What you want me to wear, freak? . . . Black rubber suits? . . . Silk stockings? . . . Leather boots? . . . What ever is your pleasure I can do it. VIEJO: Why the fuck are you so down on me? Dont you understand? ROSA: Sure, I understand . . . I understand that you pretend to be what you aint, a bad motherfucking player. . . . Maybe I should piss in a bottle or shit on your chest? VIEJO: Bitch, Ill kill you . . . nobody speaks to me like that and lives, man or woman. Ill kill you. ROSA: Please . . . please dont kill me. Im sorry. Im sorry . . . please dont kill me, I wanna live. Please dont kill me. VIEJO: Why the hell did you talk to me like that for? Who the fuck do you think I am? A motherfucking trick you picked up on the streets? Im VIEJO . . . VIEJO. Say it, bitch, say VIEJO. ROSA: Viejo . . . please, I didnt mean nothing . . . I only thought that you might be like Junior in bed. VIEJO: What the hell are you talking about? ROSA: Junior. VIEJO: What about Junior? ROSA: He cant do anything unless you insult him . . . unless you make him feel like he aint shit . VIEJO: Thats Junior, thats not Viejo. Viejo is Viejo. Junior is Junior. If Junior is a freak for shit like that, that doesnt mean that every player in the life is the same way. Now get that through you head, cuz the next man you do that kinda shit to may not be like Viejo. Im a nice guy, but I dont like being talked to or treated like if I was a piece of shit. Do you understand, bitch? Do you understand, bitch? Answer me. ROSA: Yes, I understand . . . I understand, Viejo. VIEJO: Cuz it dont mean shit to me to take you off the census . . . you be one less the pussy posse will be missing on their rounds on hoe stroll. You get me? ROSA: Yes, I do . . . please, dont kill me.
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Miguel Piero VIEJO: I aint gonna kill you . . . just lay back and shut the fuck up. I dont wanna even hear you breathe hard. ROSA: Yes, Viejo, whatever you say. VIEJO: Yes, Viejo, whatever you say. Now Im the law, huh? Now I become god to you because I was willing to ice you, huh? You aint even worth fucking if I could get it up, bitch. I aint gonna run you that this is the first time this happened to me story, cuz it aint. Youre young and you dont understand that its the blood that makes it hard up. ROSA: I learned that in Sex Education. VIEJO: Well, they shouldve educated you to the terrible shit you could do to a mans head by pulling that you cant get it up shit on him. . . . You can ruin a man that way. Dont Junior teach you any compassion for the tricks that cant get it up? ROSA: All Junior is interested in is how much I make. VIEJO: That aint the Junior I knew ROSA: Hes trying to make enough money to retire like Justice did. . . . He wants out of the life and hes taking me with him. Thats why I work more tricks than any of the other girls. Thats why I know he gonna make it, cuz with me its real feeling that pour out of him in bed. I am the one who gets it hard for him before he fucks any of the other girls, cuz I know what makes him make it move. I know him . . . VIEJO: You wanna drink? (Gives bottle to ROSA who drinks it straight down.) ROSA: Thank you. VIEJO: What you know about the kid, Cat Eyes? ROSA: Wow, for a minute there you sounded like a cop. VIEJO: Forget about what I sound like, just talk to me. ROSA: Okay. Ill talk to you . . . but why do you want to know about Cat Eyes? Ill tell you even if you tell me to mind my own business and answer your questions. VIEJO: What difference would it make, then, since you just gave me the right to advise you to go fuck yourself or to give you a lie? ROSA: The difference would be up here, in my head, in my feelings about myself. You see, Viejo, no matter what I am, how I get over, I like feeling good about myself. . . and if I do or say something which might make me feel bad about myself, I become very upset and I cant work. And I need to work to make that money so that
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool Junior can retire young enough to be a part of a world that left him behind. VIEJO: And you say that to say what? Am I expected to bring tears to my eyes and a light touch in my face? ROSA: I dont like being a rat. VIEJO: Yeah . . . right . . . okay . . . I may have to kill him. ROSA: You may have to stand in line. VIEJO: You cant see the truth. Can you? ROSA: It may be the truth, but theres plenty of feelings like that around him. VIEJO: No . . . those feelings are nothing more than just that: feelings of hate and anger. . . . But theres no feeling with me. I mean serious business when I talk of killing someone. . . . Theres nothing cheap about life, Rosa. ROSA: Hes my brother. VIEJO: Your brother? ROSA: Yes, my brother and he was my pimp and my lover . . . until Junior came into my life. VIEJO: I have nothing to ask you. ROSA: Hes not bad. Hes not mean . . . hes trying to make a hustle. Ever since he saw Mom fucking with the welfare investigator, ever since then, he always jumped on what came his way and I was naturally in the world that was in his way to put to use. A very simple story of life is what Cat Eyes is about. A what can I call it? A ghetto fairy tale that came true. Are you going to kill him? VIEJO: Yes, I am going to kill Cat Eyes . . . the pimp . . . ROSA: Youre going to waste him . . . VIEJO: Im only going to do what man has done for centuries and what others have avoided doing . . . what every player and hustler know they must do when they enter a new town or a new prison. You stop the action before it starts . . . you go for broke in any situation that threatens to take control of your game or take control of something you consider valuable enough to fight and live for. You never trade what you need to feel good in the morning about for a friendly smile from the next player because thats what keeps you going . . . what makes everything in the streets . . . the hustle, the stake . . . everything . . worth throwing yourself under the gun every day. Every player is a poet, an actor . . . a statesman . . . a priest . . . but most of all hes a player. You go out there on
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Miguel Piero that street and you meet the world of suckers . . . the world of greed and whatever other names have been defined for those that seek something outside the acceptances of their society . . . and you stand with your balls exposed in this jungle of fear . . . and you battle . . . and you fight the hardest fight of your life, each day out there in them streets that demand blood to nourish its own energies . . . today and tomorrow, and all the todays and tomorrows that are left inside your soul. And its all dragged out, no holds barred. Kick . . . punch, scratch . . . spitting . . . screaming. Fight. And then its over and the streets are soaking up the blood. You smile and know that you just won another day with yourself. Hes trying to take the only real thing I dream of . . . the reason for my surviving. I live with the dream of seeing her smile at the sound of my name. I wont let him destroy that dream . . . I wont let him. Yeah, Im going to kill me a pimp. (Lights.) SCENE 2. Out of freeze. JUSTICEs bar. CHILE is at piano singing. The scene is jumping. CHILE: OOOOOOOOO la la la la la la la Wake up on the morning and find your dreams behind every kind of rainbow in every color scheme. Its the players golden rule. That the sun always shines for the cool. (Chorus) OOOOOOOO la la la la la la la So wear your eternal high as you hustle to get by sport your fancy clothes and let the whole world know that you belong to that school where the sun always shines . . . for the cool. OOOOOOOO la la la la la la la But when the neon lights are dark, thats when you shed your players heart being free to fall in love with me.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool Until then Ill remember, the players golden rule that the sun always shines for the cool. (Chorus) OOOOOOOO la la la la Remember the players golden rule that the sun always shines . . . for the cool. Thank you . . . thank you. DIAMOND: Go, Chile girl, with your bad self . . . walk on, girl. Man, that girl does harder than a broke dick dog. Oh, shit, you know . . . there is too much sunlight in here . . . let me fish out my shades. As they say in the old mack game, the suns always shines for the cool. WILLIE BODEGA: Hey, Diamond! DIAMOND: Yeah, Willie . . . Yeah, man, be cool. WILLIE BODEGA: The drinks are on Diamond Ring, so drink, sing, dance and be merry. DIAMOND: Wait a second, Willie, I never said anything about buying the whole house a drink. WILLIE BODEGA: What, man? I just asked you and you said, Yeah, Willie, yeah, Willie, be cool. DIAMOND: Shit, man, I didnt know what the fuck you were talking about, man. You a jive motherfucker. You sure there wasnt a nigger in your family somewhere? Cuz you about the niggerest nigger I know, and you aint even black. WILLIE BODEGA: Do I take that as a compliment or an insult? DIAMOND: (To Junior.) I told the whole place how jive this whitey is and no one listened. WILLIE BODEGA: Thats cuz you was lying. DIAMOND: Diamond Ring never lies. CAT EYES: That is a fucking lie. DIAMOND: Man, I dont remember asking you for a comment. CAT EYES: Well, you got one . . . so what. (DIAMOND lifts hat and KAHLU crosses to other women gathered near the lounge.) DIAMOND: Man, when I was a kid and I wasnt wanted around . . . I knew. Some people you cant hint them away because of their hard face. You know what I mean, man? JR. BALLOON: He must be from Vajado . . . el pueblo de los caraduro.
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Miguel Piero CAT EYES: Im from La Perla, paque te lo coma, con leche, cabrn. JR. BALLOON: Vete a coger por culo mamao. CAT EYES: Oye, lo tuyo viene por ah. JR. BALLOON: Hey, did you guys hear what jumped down with Tito Pan Doblao? WILLIE BODEGA: Tito Fold Bread? JR. BALLOON: Yeah, man, you know the heist kid from out of the East Side. WILLIE BODEGA: Oh, yeah, yeah. . . I remember him. How you gonna forget a dude named Fold Bread? JR. BALLOON: Man, I dont know what get into people sometimes, t sab? Pero, like, this dude has a good thing going with himself. T sab, like he was out here making a good dollar doing the simple shit he does . . . t sab? . . . Like this dude was on parole man, ten years on the motherfucking paper. Dig? And el chamaco goes out and does his thing, fronting a job in a store he practically owned. T sab . . . Hey, Bam-Bam, when did you tell me about Pan Doblao? BAM-BAM: Friday . . . I got the news clipping. You wanna see it? JR. BALLOON: Yeah, man, let me have it. BAM-BAM: I sell it to you for a dollar. JR. BALLOON: Man, dig this motherfucker here. WILLIE BODEGA: Hey, man . . . Ill buy it. JR. BALLOON: He a sucker for kids. WILLIE BODEGA: Anyone that tries to sell you a newspaper clipping got to really be out here hustling his motherfucking ass off. Yeah, man, you got to give it to him. He tries harder than Satan. BAM-BAM: Thats cuz Im gods nephew, Willie. JR. BALLOON: Go on, kid, tell him how much of a sucker he is. He dont know nothing. Right kid? BAM-BAM: Willie knows a whole lot. He even teaches me math in his house. (Cross to VIVA at piano.) JR. BALLOON: You do, Willie? DIAMOND: Not bad, Willie B. WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, so what? So I know a little bit of math. JR. BALLOON: Nothing, t sab, just asking. SATISFACTION: Hell, dont remember the very first one. Well, I remember the first trick I turned. Guess who. My elementary
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool school principal. Really . . . this one is something else . . . I was about eleven . . . CHILE: Eleven? SATISFACTION: No . . . seriously, I was taking a smoke in the girls bathroom . . . no, not marijuana . . . tobacco, just plain tobacco. Well, school was out and I didnt hear the bell ring . . . so there I was, by myself, in the john, smoking a cigarette and Mr. Sanders, that was his name . . . never can forget it. . . . Anyway, he comes in and stands there looking at me. Now, at the time I was sleeping with my brother . . . no, not fucking, just sleeping. And in the morning he would get up and try to cover his thing but I could always see that it was hard. . . . I found out later that most guys wake in the morning with it hard. . . . Anyway, he caught me smoking, right . . . you now, an infraction . . . so he starts giving me this lecture and I pretend to be sorry and all ears to everything hes saying. So he puts his hand on my shoulder, right, comforting me and all that shit. But I see this bulge in his pants. Now, like I told you, I slept with my little brother and he used to have this friend that would take him to school in the morning and I would pretend I was sleeping and he would feel me and jerk off all fast kind of business. PHEBE: You sure take a long time to get where youre going. Tell me about the principal. SATISFACTION: Oh, yeah . . . him . . . well, anyway, my brothers friend used to always say, if I ever wanted to make a little money, just let him know and he would give me the whole wallet. PHEBE: I bet he would. SATISFACTION: So, the first thing that come into my head, while Mr. Sanders was feeling me, was to ask for a dollar. So, he pulled out his wallet and gives me a twenty . . . pulls me into the toilet stall . . . and hes a big guy and Im kinda small. CHILE: Kinda? SATISFACTION: Well, Im not a midget. This was really freaky here. We are in this small space . . . oh, well, then he pulls it out and I let out with a WOW, Mr. Sanders! And he starts shushing me quiet, Please, well get caught. Man, it was big and fat. CHILE: Spare me. SATISFACTION: Well, you asked. He couldnt fit the place right, and for the both of us it was tight. He sat on the bowl and let out this
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Miguel Piero big fart . . . man it stunk. (Cross KAHLU to bar.) Were all in these weird positions trying to settle on the right angle. Anyway, nothing works and he gets really pissed off . . . he takes me by the neck, pulls me down to my knees and tries to put it in my mouth . . . but you know I wasnt into that and thats where the money is, you know? Anyway, he came in my hair and shits on himself . . . (Cross KAHLU from bar, turns and goes back.) and Im thinking hes catching a heart attack, and all he kept saying was, Cold water . . . cold water . . . put cold water on your hair. Anyway, they found him the next morning with a hard-on but dead. PHEBE: Chile, did you ever turn someone? Did you ever? SATISFACTION: Naw, she still a virgin . . . at her age too ridiculous. . . . Really, girl, sex is sound of mind . . . CHILE: I am not a virgin. SATISFACTION: Im shocked. PHEBE: I think Im gonna faint . . . hold me somebody. CHILE: Well, my name isnt Mary of Nazareth . . . its Chile Girl. (DIAMOND and JUNIOR enter from lounge.) DIAMOND: Oh, shit, man, he got busted for that? Wow, like why would he do some dumb shit like that. Wow, thats some strange shit aint it? WILLIE BODEGA: Weird, man, weird, all kinds of weird people in this world. JR. BALLOON: Like the dude had all this thing going for him, t sab, and a couple of women that were put on him, t sab. What would make a dude that got all this shit going for him go out, pull a robbery and then rape the bitch too? . . . I mean he was asking to get taken off the count the way I see it, t sab. CHILE: Bam-Bam Boy, come here. Listen, go to the kitchen and get Lefty some shot glasses. BAM-BAM: Momentito . . . oye, Willie . . . let me have my money. WILLIE BODEGA: Here, I dont want it. BAM-BAM: Cuz you already read it. WILLIE BODEGA: Thats right, son . . . like anytime you got something to sell, never let the person you selling it to get a hold of it without el dinero en su mano. You know money talks. BAM-BAM: Bullshit walks. WILLIE BODEGA: Start walkin.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool JR. BALLOON: Thats part of your math lesson from the Street University. CHILE: Go on, hurry . . . we need the glasses fast, Bam-Bam. He cute, aint he? WILLIE BODEGA: If that type turn you on, I guess so. Hes not my type, you know. CHILE: Go hump yourself. WILLIE BODEGA: I will, thank you, Chile Girl. JR. BALLOON: But I tell you, man, t sab, that shit with Pan Doblao is really fucking too much, man, too strong. WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, I never expect him to come out of a bag like that, like that dont sound like him at all. Right? DIAMOND: Man, you never know anything about anybody until the shit comes out in the wash. You know what I mean? WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, all of it comes out in the wash, man, all of it . JR. BALLOON: Man, that old man should have been back by now two hours with the girl. WILLIE BODEGA: What you expect, man? He got a collar on him. DIAMOND: Yeah, man, he got a collar on him. JR. BALLOON: Why dont your woman talk, man? WILLIE BODEGA: Shes a mute, my man. She cant do that thing with the tongue. DIAMOND: (VIEJO enters.) Man, the collar loosen up now. Hey, Viejo? JR. BALLOON: Man, look like you lost some weight up there, Viejo. VIEJO: In the joint? JR. BALLOON: I aint talking about no joint, motherfucker. VIEJO: You cant be talking about nothing else. JR. BALLOON: Prate. She did take care of business with you. Right? VIEJO: Oh, that. Yeah, man, she took care of business . . . thanks for looking out. JR. BALLOON: Thats what friends are for. Aint it? Shit, I dont need me no friends when I am doing good. Right, bro? Hey, man. Qu pasa with that dude with the pure shit? That dude having a wack attack and thats for real, Neal. He is supposed to have something nice for us tonight and like he aint showed up yet,
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Miguel Piero man. T sab, me . . . I feel a little shaky around a dude that aint got no sense of time. WILLIE BODEGA: He be here, man, he be here. He might of had a flat tire. He might of got shot. Something! DIAMOND: The only other whitey that I knew that had a sense of time beside you, Willie, was your brother, Billy Boy. JR. BALLOON: Yeah, he was a good man. VIEJO: Hey, man, Willie, I forgot to run it on you earlier, but like, Im sorry to have heard about your brotherman. . . . WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, thanks a lot, Viejo . . . you know he thought a great deal about you, man. He dug you a whole lot. VIEJO: I dug on him too. WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah. VIEJO: Was you there when the shit jumped off? WILLIE BODEGA: Yeah, man, I was there, but there was nothing that I could have done, man. You know, like he gave me the out, man. He wouldve been really sore at me if I wouldve fucked around and blew it. You know how Billy was, man. Let me tell you something, Viejo. Im sorry he dead, dig, but Im proud at the way he went, man, real proud at the way he went. Like thats the way we should all go when the time comes that we have to say its a game of cards . . . holding court in the streets . . . guns smoking, man, thats the way to do it when you got to do it. Because when you play it that way, and you dont want to end the game that way, then you should never had played anyway, right? Right! Like, that whats it all about, aint it, man? Going with your head held high and your trigger fingers aching, man. Viejo, you know that I would have stayed with him if he wanted me to. I would have gone with him to shake hands with Satan. Shit, I bet he lonely down there . . . get all the heat. Man, thats what he always got a lot of, fucking heat. Ever since I could remember, man, our old man played it to the bitter end with us. He played it so tough that we never learn what it meant to be a little warm inside ourselves. But, man, the times were like hard candy in a cheap soda shop. But like that day, man, like that day, I should have remember, When a crosseyed mark gets in your way, dont play, cuz its bad luck . . . when you speak like you aint ever gonna see daylight again, man, thats the time to spend in bed with pussysmelling pillows in your face. You know that the time to hit the
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool invisible man in the life scene, man, but he knew all that too . . . he knew all that too, but he went anyway, man. Viejo, he knew that too. You taught both of us that shit way back then. You remember, right? . . . the rooftop, shootin Coke bottles off the edge. Man I was mean with a pistol and so was he . . . but that day he spoke like he wasnt gonna enjoy the bread from the sting no matter how much it was. It was like he knew that there was a jinx in the air for him that day, but he went. He insisted in making the hit anyway . . . it was like he had what you call a bad ju-ju, there was like no wind in the air . . . man, no taste in our mouth, no feeling in our pulse, no beating in our hearts, man. The train didnt even make noise for us that day. The lights were all red in every corner that we came to, but he wanted to go to the hit anyway. . . . He was going for broke, man. He was tired, I guess, like so many of us get tired with this whole thing out here. Remember the way he held his guns in his holsters, real close to his heart, man? But that day he held them down around his waist like if he wanted to put his head and heart out there for the buzzard in blue. He wanted to die, man. Viejo, he wanted to die and I didnt want him to . . . but like that his right to go if he wanted to. I see him running, man. He was running. The first cap was booked into his leg, man. He fell, got up and booked a cap into the man . . . they came out of nowhere, man. They came out of nowhere blasting them .38s his way. He was next to the building. They blew right through the door, and he came out as they walked his way where he was suppose to have been laying dead. He came out blasting caps into their asses, man. They ran, they ran and those that didnt lay down and play dead on the streets, were laid down dead. They laid down and played dead and I laugh cuz I knew that he was badder than all of them in the shining blue uniforms looking like semi-gods. He was a rebel. He was Satan in heaven fighting God for a piece of the action man. Thats who he was, Lucifer, fighting God for a piece of the action. Thats what he looked like. He looked like a young god taking his anger out on the fucking world. And he was mean-looking in his walk, in the bullets that flew out of his power. That was his power. Thats why they had to kill him three times over after he was dead . . . but they should have known, man, that he was alive . . . he was more alive than they will ever be, cuz he was a rebel in the middle of them all, and he would have never
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Miguel Piero hanged up his gloves . . . they were on his mitts for good and he wore them tight. DIAMOND: Right. Solid on the wallet. WILLIE BODEGA: Solid on the wallet? What kinda shit is that? DIAMOND: Regular shit, my man, just plain ordinary shit. WILLIE BODEGA: Sounds like it too. JR. BALLOON: Oye, cut that shit out, man. You guys are beginning to bore me today with all this wolf-ticket selling thats going on around here. Shit, I feel like Im at the arena and not injustices joint having a good time with the folks. Viva, play me a tune. WILLIE BODEGA: Guess that kid Cat Eyes got me on edge all day, selling me a ticket, man. I should have cashed it for him, but man its not worth it. He be out of the life a lot earlier than I thought he be . . . DIAMOND: Yeah, he got on my nerves today too . . . JR. BALLOON: Squash that shit too, man. . . forget about that nonplayer. WILLIE BODEGA: Viva, play me a little Misty. JR. BALLOON: Viejo, the kids all right, you know . . . its just that sometimes he comes across like bad medicine . . . like a laxative. You know what I mean? T sab? VIEJO: Yo s . . . later. . . . Lefty, rum and Coke . . . easy on the Coke. What can I get you, Cat Eyes? CAT EYES: Me? You gonna buy me a drink? VIEJO: Yeah, why not? The enemies of two armies were at one time sitting together in the same room talking about which is the best way in which to kill men in wars. CAT EYES: Freaky kind of shit. Aint it? VIEJO: Yeah, I guess some people would look at that as freaky, weird fucked-up thinking. But, you know, after they made up the rules they went out and had themselves a great big war to test out the rules and see which of them play fair. CAT EYES: Who played fair? VIEJO: Nobody ever plays fair when it involves the heart or the pocketbook. CAT EYES: Look, old man, you kind of old to be talking like you mean to do something to somebody, you know, like the thing you said about your daughter . . . if she is your daughter. VIEJO: She is my daughter . . . call her . . . ask her.
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool CAT EYES: Chile Girl . . . here, Cat Eyes. CHILE: Yeah, what can I get you? CAT EYES: Some questions answered. CHILE: Like what? CAT EYES: Like this man said that hes your father. Is that true? VIEJO: You can deny it if you wish, nia, pero t sab en tu corazn that lo que pas, pas. Dont hold the world of yesterday against me, nia. CHILE: Hes the man that fucked my mother and created a child who he named Chile Girl Rivera. Yeah, if thats being a father, I guess he my father. Then it means nothing to me at all. CAT EYES: Vaya, I guess that you want to say something to me on your own that aint got her approval. VIEJO: Her approval isnt needed in this case, young blood. CHILE: Are you two discussing me and my life? CAT EYES: Seems that your old man doesnt approve of me going out with you . . . CHILE: Its no business of his, whatsoever. CAT EYES: He thinks I am going to turn you out. CHILE: Thats because he sees himself in you, but youre different than he ever was with my mother. At least you can tell me the truth . . . even if its in the dark. (CAT EYES kisses CHILE.) VIEJO: You have a beautiful smile, Cat Eyes . . . you have the smile of a man that just got over like a fat rat. . . . (Shoves him.) CAT EYES: Hey, man. What the hell you doing? Get off my dick. Are you a faggot or something? CHILE: What are you doing? VIEJO: Punk, I got a .357 Magnum eight-inch barrel sticking in your balls and if you dont be cool Ill blow them off. CAT EYES: Man, be cool with that thing, man, but cool, please. CHILE: Are you crazy? Havent you done enough to me? VIEJO: Thats just it, I have done too much to you and I never have done anything for you. Now Ill make it up to you, tonight, baby, tonight . . . right here. CHILE: By killing my man? CAT EYES: Talk to him, baby. He looks crazy, man . . . he looks crazy. Talk to him, baby, talk to him. Please, Viejo, man, shoot anywhere else but there, please, man.
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Miguel Piero VIEJO: Chile, I aint out to kill your man but to kill your would-be pimp. CAT EYES: Man, I aint her pimp, man, I love her. Believe me, I do. VIEJO: You lying punk son of a bitch . . . get up . . . up . . . faggot, up! Get your yellow ass up in the air. Get it up, punk. (DIAMOND crosses from dance floor.) DIAMOND: Oh, shit. What the fuck is Viejo doing. (Everyone gathers around.) WILLIE BODEGA: Oh, shit, he gonna kill that kid. . . . Viejo. VIEJO: Shut up, all of you . . . keep out of it. WILLIE BODEGA: Man, you just got out . . . if you wanna waste him let me take care of it. Thats my shot, man, not yours. JUSTICE: Viejo . . . dont. CAT EYES: Please, dont kill me, please . . . dont kill me. VIEJO: Punk, I aint going to kill you, but you gonna wish that I had. JUSTICE: Viejo, man, you gone crazy, man? What are you trying to prove, man? Hes a punk kid, man, just a punk kid. VIEJO: Is he right? You aint nothing but a punk kid? They fucked you in the joint . . . is that what he is saying? Answer me. CAT EYES: Yeah, man, I aint nothing but a punk kid. VIEJO: You gave it up in the joint. Didnt you? CAT EYES: Yeah, man, I gave up my ass in the joint. ROSA: Carlos, please do what he says . . . hes crazy. CAT EYES: Man, what have I done to you? Man, I aint done nothing to you, man, nothing. . . . I dont even know you. VIEJO: But you know my daughter. Dont you, motherfucker? And you wanna turn her out. Dont you? Thats what you told me. Didnt you? CAT EYES: Yeah, man, but I didnt mean it. CHILE: Did you say that? CAT EYES: Yeah, baby, but I was only kidding, baby, believe me. VIEJO: Liar! CAT EYES: Okay . . . okay . . . I did mean it . . . but, man, let me go and I wont even look at her anymore. I mean it, man, really. VIEJO: Why should I believe you, man? You lied to her . . . you lied to me . . . you lied to everybody, you bullshitting punk. CAT EYES: No, Viejo, not this time. I swear on my mothers grave. VIEJO: Rosa . . . Rosa, tell Chile what you are to this thing here? ROSA: I . . . I . . .
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool CAT EYES: Rosa, Rosa . . . cllate, te corto tu cuello. Rosa. . . . VIEJO: Shut the fuck up, faggot. Go on, Rosa, tell her. ROSA: Hes my brother. VIEJO: See, baby? I know punks like him, I know them all my life. You love him and you dont believe . . . but its the truth, baby, the truth . . . he put his own sister out on the corner to hustle. He sold her to Junior Balloon. ROSA: We had to survive . . . VIEJO: There are other ways to make it out here, in any of the games of the fast. WILLIE BODEGA: Man, he started out on his own family, man, thats out. DIAMOND: He needs to die. CHILE: No man needs to die. VIEJO: Baby, this is one scumbag that needs to die. CAT EYES: I dont wanna die, man, please dont do it . . . take pity. CHILE: Shut up! Die if you have to, but dont beg for pity. CAT EYES: Fuck you, you aint the one that gonna get wasted. VIEJO: I aint gonna waste you . . . you gonna do it yourself. You got to go slow man, you got to know your mistake every day that you are gonna live . . . CHILE: Punk . . . Punk . . . JUSTICE: Stay right where you are, Chile . . . stay right where you are. VIEJO: Strip, punk! DIAMOND: Sissy-ass motherfucker had the heart to sell tickets. Shit. JR. BALLOON: Shut up, Diamond. DIAMOND: Fuck you. WILLIE BODEGA: Lefty . . . cool this, will you? LEFTY G.: No, man, you guys cool it. (Pulls gun.) VIEJO: Get down on your knees, punk . . . down on your knees. PHEBE: Cat Eyes . . . baby . . . dont . . . baby . . . DIAMOND: Youre mine now bitch . . . so get over here and enjoy the show. . . . Move! VIEJO: Get down on your knees, faggot. WILLIE BODEGA: Get down on your knees, man. JR. BALLOON: Get down on your knees, maricn. CAT EYES: Man, be cool, please be cool . . . I getting down. VIEJO: On your knees, mariconcito . . . down!
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Miguel Piero CHILE: Cat Eyes. JUSTICE: Get down, boy, if you wanna live. VIEJO: Now beg . . . motherfucker, beg . . . (LEFTY locks door.) like you wanna live. I want you to beg me like if you wanna stay alive as bad as you wanna live, thats as bad as I wanna hear you beg. Am I God? CHILE: No, Papi, no . . . no, Carlos . . . CAT EYES: Yes, you are God. VIEJO: I see there are tears in your eyes . . . cry, motherfucker, cry. Scream out . . . scream out your tears, motherfucker, scream them out, you no-good-low-life son of a whore. (CAT EYES begins to scream and cry. HE holds on to VIEJOs legs.) Kiss my shoes punk, kiss them. (CAT EYES complies with all of VIEJOs wishes.) Everybody back, back, every motherfucking body get your ass away from here . . . move you son of a bitch, move. JUSTICE: Viejo . . . Viejo . . . VIEJO: You too, you ugly motherfucker, move back . . . stop crying already, you would-be king of the pimps. You a player? You couldnt play a dime off a blind man in a dark alley. Sucker, you aint never played where the action is you and you alone . . . because on the street the game is staying alive and you dont know how to stay alive . . . you dont know how to survive because you put yourself in a position to die. . . . Like right now, sucker, you are going to die, Cat Eyes, the pimp . . . Cat Eyes, the pussy . . . you a player? A player is a survivor of a constant struggle to do it hard . . . to play it to the bitter end. . . . Faggot, dont you know that out here in this jungle if you are caught acting, you are one dead player? Out here you go for broke. You take it to the streets on all levels and you took it to the level thats gonna cause your death. This aint the semi-truth world of the tennis hustler or the pro golf pusher, this is the real world of the dreamer strung out. But you cant understand that. Are you listening, Chile Girl? He aint shit. Hes a phony being, a fake . . . even his lies are false. You blew this the minute that you thought you were the only player in town that made the rules. I invented the game. You cant hustle off a hustler. You cant play on a player. You gave yourself no out. You put yourself in solitary confinement, baby. They tell me if you dont open your mouth when youre dying, you dont need any questions answered about death. Motherfucker, I told you and
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The Sun Always Shines for the Cool you closed your ears; now you close your life. I wont let you get away with it, not me. I wont let you, motherfucker. CHILE: No, no lo mate, Papi, no tire . . . JUSTICE: Viejo . . . (VIEJO shoots himself and goes to the bar. At sound of shot CAT EYES falls back searching for a wound, crying and screaming for CHILE. Everyone rushes to CAT EYES thinking he is shot.) DIAMOND: You aint shot. . . he aint shot, man, look, he aint shot. WILLIE BODEGA: Oh, shit, Viejo played it . . . it was his play and he played it. JR. BALLOON: The motherfucker was a blank . . . (KAHLU screams, VIEJO falls . . . dead.) JUSTICE: Girl, whats the matter with you? Viejo! CHILE: No, Papi . . . no! (Rushes to VIEJO.) JUSTICE: He played it . . . to the bitter end. (The cast exits two or three at a time. WILLIE is the last to exit, leaving VIEJO, CAT EYES and CHILE.)

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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon

Characters JOSEPH SCOTT (Late sixties, active, strong) GERALD FISHER (Late sixties, active, strong) DOMINICK SKORPIOS (Late thirties, Greek immigrant) FRED PULLEY (Early seventies) NIGHT-LIFE (Mid twenties) JOE THE COP (Late fifties) ZULMA SAMSON (Late forties) JAKE THE NIGGER (Late forties) REYNOLDS (FBI Man) LOCKHART (Bureau of Immigration) MAN ONE (Insurance Salesman) MAN TWO (Record Company Executive) HOOKER ONE (On a string) HOOKER TWO (Freelancer) SHOPPING BAG LADY (Mumbles) JUNKIE GIRL (Far gone) LOST MAN (From out of town) BOY (Songwriter, musician) GIRL (Singer) Plus as many miscellaneous customers as can be creatively accommodated.

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Miguel Piero ACT I A small luncheonette in the Times Square area servicing the workers of the New York Times and whatever hungry people come in to eat. The place is open all night. In half light frozen like the figures in Edward Hoppers Night Hawk, GERRY is at the coffee urn, DOMINICK prepares to cut the pie, JOE is poised at the cash register preparing to make change for a departing Customer, HOOKER ONE is on the pay phone, A Biker sits at the counter waiting for his coffee, a Student sits at a side counter reading a textbook. After a moment the lights go to full and the action begins. General ad libs as GERRY serves the Biker, the Customer pays JOE, DOMINICK serves a piece of pie to the Student. Then . . . DOMINICK: Theres not enough pies to last the night, Joe. JOE: So what. GERRY: So what? So what, he says, like if he dont like making money. JOE: Listen, you were supposed to order the pies, right? DOMINICK: I told you yesterday that I couldnt order the pies cuz I was coming in late today JOE: You came in on time. DOMINICK: Well the marriage was faster than I thought it was going to be like. GERRY: Welcome to America, Dominick. JOE: How was the wedding, Dominick? DOMINICK: Very fast . . . very fast . . . I go into the place in the morning, we sign some papers, we go into a room . . . One, two, three, thats it. I bring my cousin Aristotle with us as a best man. She had some junkie girl with her as best woman. JOE: Maid of honor. DOMINICK: What honor, Joe . . . she had no honor, bring a girl like that to her wedding. Shes crazy without honor. Thank God Im not going to live with her. JOE: What do you mean youre not gonna live with her? DOMINICK: You know why I married her. JOE: Sure, I know, but you got to get between them legs of hers at least once.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon GERRY: Yeah, Dominick, after all the money you put out for her to marry you, you got to get laid at least once to make it legal, you know what I mean, Dominick? DOMINICK: Sure, I know what you mean, but this is strictly business. JOE: It may be strictly business, Dom, but any time you can get a piece of leg that looks like a piece of leg you ought to get that piece of leg before she gets away . . . you know what I mean, Dominick? DOMINICK: I dont know. JOE: What do you mean, you dont know? GERRY: Shes your wife, you got a right to get a piece of leg. DOMINICK: But this is strictly business. JOE: Anytime, anywhere in America a man is the boss of his home. Your wife is bought and paid for, shes yours, Dominick. DOMINICK: I dont know. GERRY: Whats there to know? All you got to do when she comes home . . . DOMINICK: She aint coming home. JOE: You mean she isnt coming home . . . ? Shes got to come home. GERRY: Where else is a wife supposed to go but home? DOMINICK: I mean there is no home to come home to. GERRY: No home to come home to. That doesnt even sound right. JOE: Thats a great title for a song. (Singing.) Theres no home to come home to, like no home that I know. Whats a home without a piece of leg. DOMINICK: Look, after the wedding she went her way, I came here. GERRY: Aint you gonna see her again? DOMINICK: When the divorce papers come through. JOE: But thats not gonna be for a long time. GERRY: Yeah, thats right, and besides, you have to become a citizen first before you divorce her. Dont forget that. JOE: Dont be stupid, Gerry, thats why he married her. GERRY: I know why he married her. DOMINICK: Joe, what if she doesnt. JOE: She has no choice. DOMINICK: . . . She can say, go fuck your own leg instead. JOE: Dont be stupid, Dominick, she cant say that. GERRY: Why not?
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Miguel Piero DOMINICK: Yeah, why not? JOE: Because she cant say that. GERRY: That doesnt make any sense to me. DOMINICK: To me either, it makes no sense to me. JOE: Why does everything have to make sense? GERRY: Joe, if things dont make any sense, then you cant execute them. JOE: Hey, Gerry, give me that cloth there. GERRY: Catch. JOE: No . . . oh, shit, look at this. You got the thing inside the chocolate syrup, dummy. GERRY: Here. DOMINICK: What happened with what you were saying, Joe? JOE: Im thinking, Dominick, let me think. GERRY: You think maybe we should go outside in case you blow a fuse? JOE: Oh, oh, oh . . . Dominick, how much you laid out to marry that broad? DOMINICK: Close to three thousand dollars. GERRY: Thats a lot of money to become a citizen of the USA. JOE: Yeah, with so many people trying to get out of the USA. GERRY: As far as Im concerned, I still go with the good old saying love it or leave it. If you dont like it, get your ass out. JOE: Boy, if people knew that people like Dominick work for years to save up enough money so that they can marry some broad and become a citizen . . . GERRY: What are you doing, Joe? Campaigning for mayor? JOE: I bet if I did campaign for mayor Id win by a landslide, cuz I know what this town needs, somebody strong thats not afraid to kick some ass in that mansion, whos not afraid of the mafia or the union bosses or doesnt have his hand out for kickbacks all the time. You know thats what this town needs. If I was mayor, the schools wouldnt be full of drugs and police and revolutionaries. Id put them all up against the wall and shoot em, no trials. Id arrest them and shoot them on the spot like Castro did in Cuba. GERRY: How do you know what Castro did in Cuba? JOE: Because thats what all them Communists do when they take over. They have a blood bath to clean out all the people that gave them a bad time.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon GERRY: You sound like a communist. JOE: I dont sound like a communist. Dont say things like that. You know the walls have ears. This place may be tapped. DOMINICK: Hey, Joe, have you thought about . . . JOE:What? DOMINICK: What we were talking about. JOE: I havent thought of nothing as yet but I will. Just let the old noggin get to work and well have a brain storm. GERRY: Yeah, maybe we should get an umbrella, hey. JOE: Maybe we should get an umbrella. Thats funny, real funny. You know the communists dont have a bad idea when they start out, you know. I mean it. I mean like they have a good idea when they start to throw out the rotten apple before it contaminates the whole barrel. Thats their motto and like it or not, its a good one. If we had in this country stopped all them spics and niggers from going crazy protesting this and that, we would have been in a better more orderly country. We let all the foreigners come in and tell us what to do with our country. Ridiculous. Thats why this country is falling apart now, you know that. Why I read in the Daily News yesterday that one of the top men in the mayors administration was arrested for being a crook. And look what happened to Kennedy and his brother. The poor kid didnt have a chance to get anywhere. GERRY: You think he had a chance at being the president? JOE: Are you kidding! With all the money his family has! GERRY: Them Kennedys sure have had a bad time with their kids. All of them killed and running around, never being at home. Sure is hell of a family life they have, huh? JOE: Now Joe Kennedy was one hell of a man. Let me tell you, he was a real old timer. He was one of them old time pioneers. DOMINICK: You mean he was with Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid? JOE: Naw, well, I bet he might have known them. I mean he had the guts to know them. GERRY: He didnt know them. JOE: What do you know! You know anything of the Kennedy family? GERRY: No. JOE: Well, Im an expert on the Kennedy family. I know everything about them. I didnt vote for John because he was too young and wouldnt know how to handle a country the size of this one. If he
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Miguel Piero had been running for governor or senator or maybe mayor of the city, I might have voted for him. But for president, naw. I mean he was killed just in time. GERRY: What a crazy thing to say, that the president was killed just in time. JOE: What I mean is if he had lived, everybody would have seen how lousy a president this man was and he would have never gotten the chance to run for any office again. DOMINICK: But Joe, he must have been a great president. I mean when I came here, I landed in Kennedy Airport. I read of a place that they call Cape Kennedy where they shot those rockets to the moon. I mean, that to me means that he was a great man. JOE: Whos saying he wasnt a great man? He got killed didnt he? GERRY: So what does that prove? JOE: It proves that he was a great man. All great men get assassinated, right? What was the name of the colored guy that got killed in the south, you know, the guy who walked all over the place? GERRY: King. JOE: What? GERRY: That was his name, King. They got some kind of center down here named after him, he said that. JOE: Said what? GERRY: That little black boys and little white boys would be holding hands. JOE: If I caught my son skipping down the streets holding hands with some nigger boy, Id break his arm. GERRY: I dont care if hes black or white or yellow or red. If I caught my son holding another boys hand, Id do the same thing too. No son of mine is gonna hold any mans hand and skip down the street like some freakin fairy. DOMINICK: I have a dream. JOE: You have a dream? DOMINICK: That was the thing he said. JOE: Who said? DOMINICK: Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior. JOE: Whos that? GERRY: Thats the name of the guy who made the speech we were just talking about.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JOE: How do you know his name, Gerry? Howd you know his name, Dominick? DOMINICK: I read about him in school. He was really a beautiful human being. JOE: What do you know? Look, youre a foreigner here. . . . What do you know about the niggers in this country? Them spades can really turn on you. They have no manners. I had a spook working here a couple of years ago and he was really a nastymouth nigger. I mean he would cough in front of people who sat down to eat. Hed pick his nose in public, farted all the time and then would stink like a dead cat stinks. I think his stomach was rotten or something, you know. Everytime he went downstairs to the basement to shit, the smell would just fill this whole place. GERRY: Joe, please, Im eating. JOE: So go ahead and eat, whos stopping you? GERRY: Never mind. JOE: I had to let him go. After that I had a spic working in here and I had to keep my eye on him all the time. You know you cant trust a spic. They steal everything thats not nailed to the floor. I mean, he was a good worker, but like, I had to keep my eye on him all the time, you know. DOMINICK: Did he steal? GERRY: Who knows? But Joes right; them spics steal like if, you know, what it is being a thief comes to them natural, like making money comes to us. Its a second nature to them. DOMINICK: Did you see him steal anything? JOE: Thats what Gerry is saying. They are just like the Arab. They can steal the nails off Jesus Christ and still leave him hanging on the cross. I had a spic friend of mine who once told me that at an early age their parents teach them how to steal and lie and everything. Its like going to school, I mean. DOMINICK: Did you believe him? JOE: Of course, I believed him. He wouldnt lie to me. DOMINICK: I dont know, Joe. Like this country is full of all different kinds of people, you know. JOE: I know, I know, aint that a fact, but thats because were kind. We let all kinds of people in this country of ours. Were not selfish with our wealth . . . with the opportunities that are here for all people, what the hell.
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Miguel Piero GERRY: Yeah, you know the old saying, you cant keep it unless you give it away. JOE: Whatd you say, Gerry? GERRY: You know, its better to give than receive . . . or like them holy rollers tell you . . . cant get into heaven with all that money, so give it to me? Like Holly Nel said, a camel cant pass anything if you put a needle in his eye. (GERRY exits to back.) FRED: (Entering.) Hey, wheres the bum? JOE: Hey, bum, how are ya? FRED: Okay, how ya doing, bum? Wheres the other bum? JOE: Hes in the back. Hey, Gerry . . . GERRY: Yeah? JOE: Freds out here. GERRY: Hey, bum. FRED: Thats right, you bum, stay back there and rot, you bum. GERRY: Ah, you dont wanna see me cuz you owe me some money! FRED: Where do I owe money to a bum from? Oh, yeah, thats right. You were begging on the subways and I told you Id have to owe you . . . for a cup of coffee. JOE: Thats a great one. FRED: Hey, Dominick, how are ya doing? DOMINICK: Okay, Fred. FRED: The name is Mister Pulley. DOMINICK: Okay, Mr. Pulley. JOE: Aint you got no manners for senior citizens? DOMINICK: I do, Im sorry, sir. FRED: Thats quite all right. Just dont let it happen again. DOMINICK: No, sir, I wont. FRED: (To JOE.) Did you get tickets for the roller derby this Saturday? JOE: Im gonna watch it on T.V. FRED: Watch it on T.V.? You must be getting old, you bum. To watch it out there in person is the way to see roller derby. Let me tell you there is nothing like it. When Mike Gannon goes around that turn knocking everything and everybody out of his way . . . Let me tell you something, you bum, thats a sight to see. Theres nothing like it and you cant tell me you really get the whole thing on T.V. because I know, Ive watched the roller derby on T.V. and it is not the same thing as watching it out there with that crowd yelling for
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon blood. And you dont get to see what really goes on when them Amazons get it on in a fisticuff action. Them torn clothes reveals a lot more than they show on T.V. Can you know what I mean? Some of them girls are really built like brick shithouses. Some of them broads remind me of the battleship I was stationed on during the big one. JOE: Yeah, I know, but I gotta lotta work to do around the house, you know. FRED: Let me get a cup of coffee and a toasted muffin. JOE: Hey, Gerry, get the bum his regular. GERRY: Okay, a toasted English coming up. (DOMINICK hands JOE a cup of coffee for FRED.) FRED: Hey, Dominick, you feel like making a couplea bucks this weekend? DOMINICK: I dont know if I have time this weekend. JOE: Dominick just got married today. FRED: Hey, congratulations, Dominick. JOE: (Handing FRED the coffee.) He married a Puerto Rican. FRED: A what? GERRY: (Entering with the English muffin.) You heard him. FRED: Hey, bum! GERRY: Hey, bum! FRED: So you married a Puerto Rican girl, huh? I hear tell they are some hot little number. GERRY: Thats what I hear too. I mean I never had me one of those. FRED: You probably get a heart attack if one of them little numbers got on you, you bum. JOE: They would sure do a number on him. FRED: They sure would, thanks. Wheres the Sweet and Low? GERRY: Here ya are, service with a smile. FRED: Your smile I dont need, hey. JOE: Hey, Dominick, you wanna pass a mop on the floor before they start coming in here. FRED: Yeah, so Dominick got himself hooked up to a little Puerto Rican number, huh? Hey, Dominick, you got more brains than I thought you had. By the way, how old are you? GERRY: How old are you, Dominick? DOMINICK: Thirty-eight years old next month. FRED: You gonna stay in this country now, Dominick?
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Miguel Piero DOMINICK: Yes. JOE: Sure he is, thats why he married that spic! FRED: How she look? JOE: Shes a looker, thats for sure. GERRY: Yeah, she sure is. Three thousand dollars worth of looks. FRED: Three thousand dollars, are you kidding? JOE: Nope, thats what he paid to marry her. FRED: Hell, for three grand I would have married him. GERRY: Youre not exactly his type, Fred. FRED: I could be just like Jack Lemmon in that film with Marilyn Monroe. What was the name of that movie? I saw it three times with Jack Lemmon, a real funny guy. I seen all his movies you know. GERRY: Some Like It Hot! FRED: Thats it, Some Like It Hot, a great film. JOE: They dont make films like that anymore, you know. FRED: Thats a darn shame, isnt it? GERRY: It sure is. DOMINICK: Can I still see it in the movies? FRED: The late, late, late movie. JOE: Fred, youre a riot. JOE THE COP: (Entering.) Hey, Joe, hows tricks? JOE: Tricks are for kids, want some corn flakes? JOE THE COP: Hello, Dominick. DOMINICK: Hello, Officer Joe. JOE: Dominick, get some glasses. GERRY: Whatll you have? JOE THE COP: Give me a pastrami on white, hold the mustard. Coffee with no sugar. GERRY: And an apple turnover, all traveling, right? JOE THE COP: Right. So hows business? JOE: Business is fine. Hows business out there in the streets? JOE THE COP: Same as always. Saturday night everybody is trying to kill somebody else. JOE: Things get bad some times out there, right? JOE THE COP: Youre damn right. Especially on nights like this. The weather isnt so bad, its a good night for muggers. People wanna go out and take walks. I wish people would just go home and lock themselves in until its time to go to work the next day. Thats
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon what I do, well not me, Joe, but my wife and kids, I mean. If my kids arent home by eight oclock, I go looking for them and when I find them they know whats in store for them. Most parents nowadays dont wanna hit their kids no matter what they do. If it was up to me every kid that came into the station house would receive an ass whipping like my father used to give me. JOE: I know what you mean. My kids are all grown up now and all of them with the exception of the oldest are hard-working citizens making their daily living. No charity crap for them. The oldest one went to Vietnam and came back a . . . a . . . I dont know what to call him . . . a communist junkie pinko fag creep. I threw the bum out of the house. FRED: I fought in the big one and these kids go out to a little brawl like Vietnam and they make a big stink out of it. They really think they been to war. They come back talking like if they, they, they . . . JOE: I know what you mean, Fred. I cant even begin to pinpoint the problem of the chicken-livered shithead. JOE THE COP: Well, they finally gave me a desk job now. JOE: You got yourself a desk job at the station? JOE THE COP: Yep, taking it easy. JOE: What are you two doing there with Dominick? GERRY: Wouldnt you like to know. FRED: Just trying to help the young fella along with some marital hints, you know what I mean? JOE: Dominick just got married. JOE THE COP: He did, huh? Dom old boy, you just made one of Americas grave yet traditional human errors. DOMINICK: I did? How? JOE THE COP: Dropping the wings of bachelor freedom and donning the yoke of marriage slavery, but nevertheless, I wish you health, wealth and love. JOE: Ill drink to that. DOMINICK: Thank you . . . thank you very much . . . (Enter ZULMA in a rush.) ZULMA: Hi, everybody . . . hot chocolate to go . . . extra milk . . . no sugar . . . is the phone working, Joe? My, Gerry, the years are taking their toll . . . potbelly, pretty soon. Stop drinking all that beer, right, Fred? Hey, Dominick . . . hello . . . this is X-87 . . . nothing . . . What? No . . . but I will . . . well if thats the way you feel
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Miguel Piero about it then okay. Ill just get me another answering service, goodbye. Chocolate ready? I was going to get me another service anyway . . . I was . . . really. . . . Oh, well, Joe, you know how it is in the business, sometimes youre up, sometimes youre down . . . but I guess I know what youre thinking: once a person reaches a certain point in the struggle to reach some kind of notoriety and they dont get there, then its time to bid farewell to all that is a part of ones natural habit as is the habit to eat, to breathe, to sleep. The nature of a prayer is to be heard by whoever is listening. I seem to have a bad connection to that certain ear wherever it is. JOE: What are you talking about? GERRY: Dominick here just got married. JOE THE COP: Would you mind repeating what you just said, I didnt get it all. ZULMA: What Im talking about? Im talking about David Merrick . . . Alex Cohan . . . Gower Champion . . . Joe Luggage and Frankie Suitcase, about all those guys who control the means and the manner of my existence on this planet, about Show Business and Backstage and Variety and all those casting notices that appear in the paper, about the Equity billboard, about the daydreams that rush through our heads as we climb the stairs to an audition, about the tears that flood out after being rejected once, twice . . . three times in one afternoon . . . and thats not counting the morning, or the telephone calls, the hundreds of pictures and rsums that hit the mailboxes. Of course, I cant repeat what I said, I speak from the moment not from a script. As for you, Dominick who just got married, break a leg . . . well, time has it that I venture forth toward the unknown fate of a sacred audition . . . this hot chocolate will be cold by the time I reach my destination, but thats not the moment of truth . . . it comes later on in the day with the hot chicken soup that I heat in the naked cold of my lonely room . . . when the night finds me moaning over the uselessness of trying to survive in the path of glamour and beauty, for I have lost both of these elements during the course of the years, yet my talent has no end in sight, and yet I am not judged by this but by the fullness of my breast. So long, guys, I will see all of you tomorrow if the Lord is on my side . . . if not, send me no flowers . . . for I will
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon venture to exploit all of me in that great casting office in the sky . . . bye. (Exits.) DOMINICK: Who was she! JOE THE COP: I dont know her name, but by the silver tongue that she left behind, she must be the stone ranger. JOE: Thats nice, Joe. See you next time. JOE THE COP: Good night, Joe, Gerry, Mr. er, er??? FRED: Fred, Fred Pulley. Call me Fred. JOE THE COP: Good night, Fred . . . and Dominick, dont do nothing I wouldnt do. (JOE THE COP exits.) JOE: So long, Joe. Nice guy. One of the really decent cops on the force. GERRY: Hes all right for a cop. JOE: All cops are really all right. They have a tremendous job on their hands when they become New York City cops. GERRY: Dont I know it. Dont forget my oldest one is a cop. DOMINICK: Why did Officer Joe say that to me? JOE: Say what? DOMINICK: That I shouldnt do nothing he wouldnt do. I dont know what he wouldnt do, so how am I going to know if I am doing something that he wouldnt do? JOE: You know, as crazy as that may sound, it makes sense. But look, thats just an old American saying, Dom. DOMINICK: It doesnt make any sense to me. GERRY: You mean you never heard it said before, Dom? JOE: If he had, would he be acting like he hadnt? GERRY: Just surprised, thats all. (Telephone rings.) DOMINICK: I got it. JOE: Ill get it. City Morgue, you stab em, we slab em. Oh, hi, Ruth. Sorry, cant make no deliveries today. The boy didnt show. Yeah, yeah, I know this is the second day in a row, but what can I tell you? Listen, order from someone else. No, no hard feelings whatsoever, okay, bye . . . the bitch. GERRY: Who was that? JOE: Ruth Singerton from up the street. Shes really got a whole lot of nerve, hasnt she? GERRY: She has a whole lot of something else too. JOE: She sure does. That woman has a future behind her. FRED: Well, here you are, Joe.
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Miguel Piero JOE: Leaving already? FRED: Yeah, got to get back to work. You know some people work while others pretend to work, right, Gerry? GERRY: I wouldnt know, Im only here eight hours a day. FRED: Aaah, you bum. Take it easy, you bums. JOE: You too, you bum. DOMINICK: Good night, Mr. Pulley. FRED: Hey, call me Fred. DOMINICK: Right, Fred . . . bye. GERRY: Get out of here already, you bum. FRED: Let me get a pack of Camels. JOE: Here you are, on the house. GERRY: Yeah, we like giving away coffin nails. FRED: Ahhh, you bum. So long, see you tomorrow. JOE: Okay, Fred. (FRED exits.) GERRY: How old you think Fred is? JOE: Hes past sixty-five, I think. GERRY: Hes a baby compared to you, heh, Joe? JOE: Blow that our your ass. DOMINICK: What about the delivery boy, Joe? JOE: What delivery boy? Hes fired. DOMINICK: My cousin, Aristotle, is looking for work. Hes young and strong. JOE: Bring him around tomorrow and Ill have a look at him. GERRY: What are you now, a casting director? DOMINICK: Whats a casting director, Joe? GERRY: What do you wanna eat, Dominick? . . . Ill make it for you. DOMINICK: Eggs and tomatoes. GERRY: You want some coffee? DOMINICK: Yes. No, today, tea with lemon. JOE: A casting director, its a job in the entertainment business. GERRY: The entertainment business? JOE: Its a business! GERRY: Gee, Joe, Im only kidding. JOE: Well, I dont take it as a joke. GERRY: Okay, okay, sorry that I try to be human. DOMINICK: Whats wrong? Why are you two fighting? GERRY: He was an entertainer most of his life. DOMINICK: A what?
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JOE: I was in show business. Thats why I bought this place. Never played Broadway, so when I got too old to make the rounds regularly I decided, well, I may never play Broadway, so let me work on Broadway. So me and three other friends of mine bought this here place and settled down to relax our few years on this earth with the toil of good, honest, hard work. Im the only one left of the three. Gerry just bought a share of the place, makes him a partner now. But he worked in this place for a long time before he could make enough money to buy a share of the place. Dominick, theres plenty of opportunity in America to make a decent living if you put your mind to it. I mean, dont think that its been easy for anybody. When you get right down to it, Dominick, there are very few people in this country who were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Most of us got to where we are today by getting up every morning and reporting to work and by saving a pretty penny here, a pretty penny there, until you find that you have enough to make a lot of pretty pennies to work for you. You should work hard for the dollar and then sit back and relax and let the dollar work hard for you. Thats the way to live in America. I mean, I really dont understand all this bitching that goes on in the newspapers every day. The Negro and the Puerto Ricans and now the Cubans and Vietnamese, we let them in this country to do something for themselves and they expect the country to feed them and clothe them and lead them by the hand until they can find some type of education, looking for a handout. They dont want to work. DOMINICK: Do not ask what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country. JOE: Exactly. Hey thats pretty clever. DOMINICK: John F. Kennedy said it in a speech. JOE: He did, huh? . . . Smart, your man. I still think he was too young to run a country like this one. Not enough experience in high political office. Theres a lot of sharpies up there. Dominick, you go to night school, right, and you read the papers, whats your opinion? GERRY: Not that it matters any. JOE: Come on, be serious. Soon this man is going to be a citizen of this country and he should know that he can express his political, religious and social views without fear of persecution.
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Miguel Piero DOMINICK: Well, you know, Joe, I lived over there and I lived in many places that you call over there. GERRY: (Singing.) Over there, over there. Tell em that the yanks are coming. The yanks are coming over there. JOE: Thats un-American, Gerry. If you make fun of those songs that inspired men to fight for freedom of the world, you might as well spit on the flag and curse the president. GERRY: Damn, Joe, I was only kidding, you kid around too. JOE: Yeah, but when I do, its different. GERRY: Whats so different about it? JOE: Because when I do it, I do it as a showman. Youre not a showman, a stand-up comic. I was. GERRY: Like you was not like you are. JOE: Let me tell you how it was when we got to Paris during the big one. GERRY: We know how it was, Joe. DOMINICK: I read about it in school. JOE: Yeah, but reading about it is not the same as hearing about it. Them French girls, my God, were they the horniest broads that I ever met in my life! They ripped your pants off if they caught you in the streets or in a hotel room. Man, they were sure the horniest broads in my life. One thing I can say for the French is that their women sure taught me a mess of things about women. GERRY: I have something to say about the French too. The French is a wonderful race, polly boo. JOE: Ahahaha . . . The French is a wonderful race, polly boo. JOE and GERRY: (Singing together to DOMINICK.) The French is a wonderful race, polly boo . . . the French is a wonderful race, polly boo. the French is a wonderful race they fight with their feet and fuck with their face. Hinky, dinky, pollyyy booo. JOE: I havent sang that since Paris. My, my, how time has slipped right on by. GERRY: What was the other Polly Boo song that we used to sing? JOE: Oh, right, let me see, The first marine bought the beans. GERRY: Polly boo . . . come, Dominick, just say polly boo, okay? JOE: The second marine cooked the beans.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon GERRY and DOMINICK: Polly boo. JOE: The third marine ate the beans and shitted all over the submarine. JOE and GERRY and DOMINICK: Hinky dinky, polly boooo. JOE: Lets stop it, too much. GERRY: Joe, you all right? JOE: Yeah, Im all right. GERRY: Joe, why dont you go to Paris? JOE: It would be nice, wouldnt it. GERRY: Itll be great. You and me, the kids are all grown up and they, well, you know they . . . JOE: They dont need us anymore. GERRY: Sometimes I think Im in their way. They were talking about putting me in an old age home. JOE: So thats why you moved away? GERRY: Yeah, thats why. (Telephone rings.) JOE: This is the house of the Lord, Moses is speaking. Oh, hello, Ruth . . . its that Singerton broad again. Yeah, Dominick, you feel like making a delivery? DOMINICK: Sure, why not. Do I get a tip? JOE: Yeah, dont bet on the horses . . . ahahahaha. GERRY: What you want me to cook up, Joe? JOE: The regular thing. GERRY: Four coffees, two light no sugar, one black, one regular, two danishes, one neopolitan, one eclair, one french cruller and well throw in one corn muffin. DOMINICK: What is the address? JOE: Here ya are and dont stay there all night googling at her ass. GERRY and JOE: (Singing.) Barney Google with the goo goo googly eyes Barney Google with a wife three times his size She sued Barney for divorce then she ran off with his horse Barney Google with the goo goo googly eyes. GERRY: Take the umbrella, its drizzling out there. JOE: Hey, Dominick, dont get wet. DOMINICK: Thanks. JOE: So thats why you moved out, heh?
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Miguel Piero GERRY: Yeah, I didnt understand their insistence on them putting me in a prison away from all the love and care that I can give them. I know that they mean well, but that kind of well meaning I can do without. Im not a cripple, Joe, I drive my own car. I supported them until they were old enough to make it out here in the jungle by themselves. Like I did, I paved the road with education, the education that I was not lucky enough to get. Sure they would come and see me once or twice a week, maybe every day for a while, and how long do you think that would last? Have you ever seen a home for the aged? Its a death life, all these living beings wrinkled and feeble and mumbling to themselves, holding on to the last postcard from other couples children, imagining that they are their own grandkids. Decaying photographs of themselves inside handmade frames, that helped for awhile, too many homes, private ones, state-owned, some of them real fancy names with chandeliers and candles burning. Others were brutal in themselves, home for the aged and the feeble. What can you do, when you reach the point of fear, of helplessness? A little money keeps you alive inside yourself. And then they want to take it all away from you, for your own good, for their own sense of privacy is more like it, Joe, for their sense of insanity that pushes them into being social workers rather than the children that you brought up and struggled and fought for all your life. If I didnt put them in an institution when they were young, why do they want to do it to me, because Im old? They rate me obsolete, thats what it is, Joe, they rate us obsolete. We hold no more useful function in their lives. I wonder what would happen if someday they come to that realization about all of us. When they figure that keeping us in a home is very expensive, would they just feed us into the gas chambers like Hitler did those poor miserable Jews? Would they all leave and give us a piece of earth to toil until we are dead? Maybe they will create dead-end jobs that serve the same function that we do, none. You know when Lyndon Johnson retired to his ranch in Texas, I thought that he would be like the rest of the retired presidents of this nation and die along with the headlines in a garbage can. Then I saw a picture of him in the Daily News riding a horse and wearing his hair as long as the very people who protested his stay in office and his policies. What do you think he was telling the world, a retired president of the greatest nation on
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon earth wearing his hair like that? It was almost like a sign of arrogance, of protest, against the talk that he was old and ready to die any moment. Joe, I havent seen my children or my grandchildren since Martha and I moved out of the house to be on our own. They said that I was insane and . . . oh, shit, I miss the hell out of them, Joe. I love my children like I never loved anything else in this world, and watching and helping to take care of their children was like reliving the past with them all over again. Me and Martha would take them out and spoil the hell out of them, but it was a good kind of spoiling, the good kind, and they used that to try to commit me. I miss them, Joe, and I know that Ill never see them again, because I, Joe, I have made that decision myself. Joe, sometimes I feel like . . . (HE begins to sing.) Sometimes I feel like a motherless child . . . (NIGHTLIFE, a young man of twenty, enters.) NIGHTLIFE: Hi, my, its getting cold out there. Hardly no people on the streets. . . . (HE pops a quarter in the jukebox.) Its a good day for a mugging. (Stevie Wonders Living for the City comes up on the jukebox.) JOE: If thats your work I guess it is. Whatll it be? MAN: Give me a chocolate malted milk. GERRY: (Exiting to the kitchen.) One chocolate malted, coming up. NIGHTLIFE: (NIGHTLIFE begins to boogie to the music.) Is that chocolate cream pie? JOE: Yep, fresh chocolate cream pie. NIGHTLIFE: (Still boogying.) How much a slice? JOE: Forty-five cents. NIGHTLIFE: Let me get those two pieces. JOE: Both of them? NIGHTLIFE: Yeah, both of them, do you mind? JOE: Youre paying for them. Youre eating them, so why should I mind? You want them now? NIGHTLIFE: Yeah, now, thanks. (NIGHTLIFE begins to stuff the pie into his mouth.) JOE: You like pie, huh? NIGHTLIFE: Yeah, I like pies. JOE: Good, huh? NIGHTLIFE: Good. (After a beat.) You happen to know what time it is?
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Miguel Piero JOE: The clock is on the wall behind you. NIGHTLIFE: Man, I didnt know it was so early. I works late, they call me Nightlife. JOE: Its a name. NIGHTLIFE: Can I read that paper until the malt is ready? JOE: Sure, why not, here. (As JOE folds up the paper, NIGHTLIFE boogies to the kitchen door and peers into the back.) JOE: You expecting someone else? NIGHTLIFE: Why? JOE: Just that you keep looking around to see if anyone is there. NIGHTLIFE: Maybe Im trying to make sure that no one is there. JOE: Maybe. NIGHTLIFE: Hows this business, you make a good dollar? JOE: We do all right. GERRY: (Entering from the kitchen.) Heres your chocolate malt, sonny. NIGHTLIFE: Nightlife is my name. GERRY: (Putting the malt on the counter in front of NIGHTLIFE.) I call people by their names if they are my friends or are about to be my friends. NIGHTLIFE: Yeah, thats cool. (HE drinks the malt down in one long gulp.) You make a nice malted milk. GERRY: Thanks, I try. NIGHTLIFE: Dont we all. JOE: (Slapping a check in front of NIGHTLIFE.) Thatll be a dollar sixty-five. NIGHTLIFE: I got eyes, I can see, thank you. (The three of them stare at each other for a moment, then NIGHTLIFE takes out a cigarette, looks at JOE and GERRY with an exaggerated villainous smile. HE gets up with one hand in his pocket and performs a whole silent-movie-bad-guy routine of curling his mustache and giving the Richard Widmark crazy-killer laugh. HE then remains in total silence for a long moment, then yells out BOO slapping the counter with two dollars. JOE pulls out a large revolver and GERRY has a meat cleaver at the ready. NIGHTLIFE begins to laugh at them hysterically. JOE takes the money, gives NIGHTLIFE his change, refuses the tip. NIGHTLIFE leaves, laughing his way out the door. Two men, REYNOLDS and LOCKHART, enter the place along with JOE THE COP.)
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JOE: Hey, Joe, what brings you around? GERRY: Hey, Joe, what happened to the desk job? JOE THE COP: This is business, Gerry. JOE: Police business in our place? GERRY: I told you theyd catch up with you sooner or later, Dillinger. JOE THE COP: These two men are from the government. REYNOLDS: Reynolds, Federal Bureau of Investigation. LOCKHART: Lockhart, Bureau of Immigration. REYNOLDS: Joseph Scott, you own the place? JOE: Yeah, thats right. We own the place. Its a legal business. Theres nothing going on in this place that aint legal. Im an honest man. GERRY: Gerald Fisher is my name. Im part owner here. Whats the trouble? REYNOLDS: Theres no trouble with either of you. LOCKHART: Were looking for a Mister Dominick Athemus Skorpios. JOE: Dominick? Whats he done? LOCKHART: Hes in the country illegally. GERRY: Thats not true! Hes an American citizen . . . by marriage. REYNOLDS: We know of his marriage to one Carmen de Jess, also known as Iris Morales-Milagros Ramrez. She has a list of aliases that can go on for a couple of days, and we dont have much time. JOE: Well, I dont know how many names she has, nor do I care if she is an American citizen by birth. JOE THE COP: Easy, Joe. Will ya hear them out first before you blow a fuse? GERRY: She is a Puerto Rican, shes a citizen by birth. JOE: Yeah, what ya mean? That Puerto Ricans arent citizens of this country? They are one of the finest people to ever set foot in this God-given soil. REYNOLDS: Puerto Ricans are citizens, sir. LOCKHART: But not Mexicans, Mr. Scott. JOE: Mexican? GERRY: Mexican? What ya mean? Shes a Mex? . . . She showed us her birth certificate. LOCKHART: Phony. Most of her papers are phonies. REYNOLDS: Wheres Mister Skorpios now?
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Miguel Piero JOE: Hes out making a delivery. . . . Hell be back soon. REYNOLDS: Good, well wait. JOE THE COP: See, Joe, its like this. This dame goes around posing as Puerto Rican so that she can hook fishes like Dominick into paying her to marry her so they can stay in the country through marriage. LOCKHART: We have her in custody now. Mister Skorpios may have to face other charges of conspiracy. So his chances to have stayed here are less even with the help you may offer in his behalf. REYNOLDS: Lockhart, call in. LOCKHART: Will do. GERRY: Oh, poor Dominick. (Enter DOMINICK.) DOMINICK: Hell, Joe, heres the money. She gave me no tip. Shes cheap, aint she? JOE: Isnt she. Its isnt she. These two men are here to see you, Dom. Theyre from the government. They wanna talk to you about . . . hell, Gerry, you tell him. GERRY: They say you are here illegally and they . . . well, they . . . DOMINICK: Illegally? No, thats not true anymore. Im married to an American. I got married to an American. Im not . . . JOE: Thats just it. Shes not an American. Shes not a Puerto Rican. Shes a wetback Mexican scab who slipped into the country and took all of us in . . . goddamn it, Dominick. . . goddamn her soul. DOMINICK: She not an American? LOCKHART: Im afraid not, Mr. Skorpios. REYNOLDS: Lets go. We can talk about this downtown. DOMINICK: Wait, please! I just want to live here to make a life here, like your fathers did. Like Joe says, I would, if I work hard enough at it. I want to make my life here, to make a decent living here in America. Cant I stay? Cant I stay, please?! Let me stay here in this place. I work hard, ask Joe . . . ask Gerry . . . Im never late, never did I miss a day of work, always I work late and hard and very much. Never am I lazy. REYNOLDS: Lets go. DOMINICK: I do not ask for welfare or any kind of help from government . . . just to let me make a life here. I just want to be an American. JOE THE COP: Im sorry, Dominick. JOE: Its not your fault, Joe. Its all our faults.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon REYNOLDS: Come along, Mr. Skorpios. Good night, gentlemen. LOCKHART: Good night, sorry, were just doing our job . . . you understand. JOE: We understand . . . yeah, we understand. (Exit REYNOLDS, LOCKHART and DOMINICK.) GERRY: Poor Dominick. He didnt even get laid . . . (Lights Out.)

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Miguel Piero ACT II Same scene. Three hours later, it is the height of the hour JOE and GERRY are busy serving the customers, including JUNKIE GIRL and SHOPPING BAG LADY. ZULMA enters during the scene and sips on a cup of chocolate. The scene as originally produced was improvised around the following set of characters: MAN ONE, MAN TWO, HOOKER ONE, HOOKER TWO, Cowboy. At the end of the scene, the Hookers exit with Cowboy. GERRY turns to JOE. GERRY: (Pointing to JUNKIE GIRL.) Hey, Joe. JOE: Shes pulling a Mary Hartman-Mary Hartman. GIRL: Hey, wow, Mary Hartman. I look like Mary Hartman? JOE: No. GERRY: What hes saying is youre pulling a Mary Hartman. GIRL: Hows that? JOE: Drowning in a bowl of soup. GIRL: This soup is cold. I dont want it. JOE: You pay for it just the same. GIRL: Hey, yeah, wow, like I got bread. (Throws her money on the counter and stumbles out into the night. The SHOPPING BAG LADY sits on a stool mumbling to herself, hell, damn, fuck you, shit, bastard. Profanity is the only thing she says.) LADY: Mumble mumble damn you mumble mumble. (Waving her hands all the time, she takes the things from time to time and puts them inside her shopping bag. SHE exits during the song Greasy Spoon Blues.) GERRY: Goddamn it, wouldnt you know it, Joe, that today would turn out to be busier than usual? Just our luck to have Dominick picked up at the height of the hour. JOE: Poor Dominick. He should have called in sick. GERRY: Aw, they would have turned up tomorrow or the next day. When the Feds are after you, forget it. You can run, but you cant hide. Thats the old saying about them. Dillinger found that out. So did Babyface Nelson and Ma Barker and a host of others that fled the F.B.I. You just cant win. Its like playing a game of stud poker and knowing that the deck is stacked against you, but you sit down to play anyway, thats the philosophy of the criminal mind. They go out and play against a stacked deck. Its a means of ending the beginning of yourself.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JOE: Well, you know what they say about destiny. GERRY: No, I dont. What is it they say about destiny? JOE: How should I know? I thought you knew. (Telephone rings.) JOE: Theres a midnight moon at the greasy spoon tonight. Oh . . . hi, Ruth. What can I do for you? . . . Who? Oh, Dominick . . . naw, he aint here anymore. They took him away today . . . Who? The F.B.I., thats who . . . they found out he was a wanted killer. . . . Yeah, they got wind of him from the C.I.A. They spotted him and turned him over to the C.I.D., who turned him over to the B.C.I., who called Scotland Yard, who called Interpol, who called the F.B.I. and they came and took him away. . . . Thats right. A born killer, they said. . . . Yep, about twenty people with a rusty ax handle . . . no motive. He did it for pleasure. . . . What? . . . No . . . throughout the nation, yep, been underground for years. Sure we knew about it. Gerry thought he could rehabilitate him. . . . No, Im not lying to you. . . . You wanna ask Gerry? . . . Sure, its the truth. . . . Yep, twenty people . . . mostly late-night working women. . . . Yep, late-night working women. . . . Naw, no men . . . just women . . . in their late forties. Seems he had a kind of psycho thing about him, always when he delivered coffee to them. You sure are lucky hes not going to be able to keep that date. Yeah, its really a shame. . . . Take it easy. . . . No, theres no chance of him escaping. But if he does, you will be the first to know. . . . Yeah, he talked about you a lot. Yeah, I think you should go to bed. Yeah, thats not a bad idea. . . . Sure will. Good night. Pleasant dreams. . . . Bye. . . . Chiao . . . hang up already, will you! . . . Damn, that woman sure can be a pain in the lower back. . . . Boy, one of these days. One of these days . . . GERRY: Ill bet shell dream of Dominick tonight. JOE: I bet she will. GERRY: Twenty people with a rusty ax handle . . . thats a good one. JOE: Mostly late-night working women. ZULMA: (Stands up slowly.) You guys had a killer working here . . . trying to rehabilitate a born killer. That guy Dominick was a killer? He sure didnt look like a killer. He didnt look like a killer. He didnt act like a killer. And he didnt talk like a killer. (Pause.) But then again, what does a killer look like or what does a killer say to someone when they first meet. Hi, Im a killer.
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Miguel Piero JOE: Zelma, he was no killer. Believe me, I was joking with that woman. ZULMA: The name is Zulma, not Zelma. JOE: Zulma out here and Zelma at home. ZULMA: Its Zulma out here and Zulma at home and Zulma on stage and Zulma in here. JOE: Zulma. Zelma. Zulma. Zelma. Zelma. Zulma. Whats in a name? ZULMA: Plenty. GERRY: So hows business? ZULMA: Do you know what? This morning I went to five auditions. Count them. Five. Since this morning Ive been pounding the concrete, making the rounds and all I got is the same dont call us, well call you routine. JOE: Oh, how I know them words so well. ZULMA: Oh, I bet you know the routine. GERRY: But with a name like Zulma Samson, well you know, what can you expect? ZULMA: It has nothing to do with the name, Gerry. Its the age, the age. Its the age. (SHE begins to weep.) JOE: Hey! Hey, look, dont do that. Come on now, pull yourself together. Come on, Zulma, not in here. What if someone comes in? Look, stop crying, will ya? . . . please stop crying. ZULMA: Its the age. Its the age. Im a has-been . . . a has-been that never was. I was once so beautiful, to look at me you wouldnt think so, but I was. I was once so beautiful . . . whats happened to me? JOE: Youre still beautiful. You still got a lot of spunk left in you. Stop crying. ZULMA: Oh, stop it. I know the truth. I know the truth, thats why Im crying, cuz I know the truth . . . I realize the truth. I cant hide from the mirror anymore. My time is over. My time is over and I never even got to look at the clock of success. . . . Im passed the hour of life. . . . I can face the truth now . . . I can face all the wrinkles without all the make-up. I can face it now . . . I know that Im all washed up . . . but what am I going to do? What am I going to do? I know nothing else but show business . . . its all I know since I was a child. And I am not going to end up in no old actors home to tell stories of glorious events that never took place . . . lay by the window all the time watching the sunrise . . . hoping that each
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon ray of light will bring in a letter from Dino de Laurentis or a script hand-delivered from Joseph Papp saying that he needs me to play the lead in a new production at Lincoln Center . . . no . . . no . . . no actors home for me. . . . I was born on stage . . . well, not exactly on stage, it was a traveling show in a tent. I was on stage when the final labor pain struck my mother . . . no, I know nothing else, and I never wanted to know anything else but what I know . . . and its been grand and I want to remember it as being grand and I always, since the moment I was able to fend for myself . . . Ive took care of myself and now Ive reached the ebb of my tide. GERRY: The ebb of my tide . . . Zulma, youre really a ham. ZULMA: Of the finest caliber. JOE: So, now that you say you know what you think is the truth of your final years on the good Earth, what do you plan on doing with them? GERRY: How do you plan to support yourself? ZULMA: Ill get me a steady job. JOE: You have any place in mind? ZULMA: Sure. JOE: Where? ZULMA: Here. GERRY: Where? ZULMA: Here. JOE: Here! ZULMA: Here. GERRY: Did she say here? ZULMA: What are you guys . . . a comedy team? GERRY: She did say here. ZULMA: I thought I was clear about that. JOE: I know you sounded clear and I know that you think you sounded clear, but I wanted to make sure that you sounded clear about being clear about working here. I mean, I dont want to sound as if I and Gerry were a large firm, but we feel somehow that since we are going to have to pay wages to whoever spends hours here . . . ZULMA: Whats the problem? I mean, look, you like me and I like you. . . . You do like me??? JOE: Sure. GERRY: No one said that they didnt like you, at least I didnt. JOE: I didnt say it either.
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Miguel Piero ZULMA: Okay, then whats the problem? You like me, I like you, we can have a beautiful working relationship. And its close to Broadway, you know what I mean? JOE: I know what you mean, more than you think. GERRY: Well, its okay with me if its okay with Joe. JOE: Well, if its okay with you, then its okay with me. GERRY: When can you start? ZULMA: Nothing like the present for doing what you have to do, right fellas?! GERRY: Right! JOE: Go in the back and put on something thatll keep the grease off your clothes. ZULMA: Oh, by the way. I look ridiculous in a mini-skirt, so I hope you dont require that your female workers wear one. JOE: I wouldnt dream of asking you to wear one. ZULMA: Look at that. Not even in your dreams can you see me in a mini-skirt. Boy, I must look worse than I thought. JOE: I didnt mean it that way. ZULMA: No? In what way then? JOE: Just go get somethin on, will ya? (ZULMA exits to the kitchen.) GERRY: Shes okay, you know . . . a regular guy. JOE: Yeah, shes all right. Im glad that shes getting a little more sense into her head nowadays. You know, I think were going to have a nice night tomorrow. GERRY: Yeah, I think so too . . . though, I still feel sorry for poor old Dominick. JOE: Yeah, I think Im going to miss him too. GERRY: He would have made a great American citizen. JOE: Just like you, huh? GERRY: Yeah, just like me. . . What??!! You think that Im not a great American citizen? JOE: No, I dont think youre a great American citizen. GERRY: You dont? JOE: No, I dont think youre a great American citizen. GERRY: Youre kidding. JOE: No, Im serious. GERRY: What you think, Im some pinko fag commie or something? JOE: No, I dont think youre some kinda pinko fag commie or something.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon GERRY: Then what do you mean by saying that Im not a great American citizen? JOE: Gerry, I think youre a good American citizen. I think youre a patriotic American citizen. I think youre a loyal American citizen. But I dont think youre a great American citizen. Greatness is reserved for those who do not make their living being a short order cook. GERRY: Greatness is not reserved, Joe. Greatness is there for all who wish to claim it. I for one never had the passion to grab it and the responsibilities that go along with it. I am a simple man . . . a humble man . . . a man of wisdom, of worldly knowledge . . . of compassion . . . (Enter a Young Musician and his girlfriend.) GIRL: You tell em. BOY: You tell em. GIRL: Why did you tell me you was going to tell em if you aint going to tell em? BOY: I said I might tell em today. GIRL: Well, tomorrow is the gig and we promised to tell em if we got the job. Right! So tell em! BOY: Yeah, if . . . GIRL: No ifs, ands or buts about it . . . Joe . . . JOE: Yeah. GIRL: Can we see you for a sec? JOE: Hey, Gerry, you wanna handle the old lady. I want to talk with the kids. GERRY: No skin off my nose. JOE: Hey, kids, hows the business treating you? BOY: Well, I think we got a gig. JOE: No kidding. GIRL: Well, its not much of a gig . . . BOY: Its in the West Village. GIRL: But its a start. JOE: A start, no matter how big or small, its a start. Whata ya wanna eat? BOY: Boy, Im too excited to talk or sleep or eat. GIRL: I never thought we could make it here in the concrete cold, metal monster, but it looks like it might happen. JOE: Yeah, in no time at all you might be another Sonny and Weird. GIRL: You mean Cher.
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Miguel Piero JOE: Thats just what I said, weird. GIRL: I hope it happens soon. Our phone has been disconnected, the rent is due and we owe you almost twenty dollars. BOY: We wanted you to know that we are singing at this place cuz theyre putting up posters announcing our appearance and we didnt want you to think that were making money and eating for free. JOE: Yeah, but youre playing for free. GIRL: We wrote . . . well, he wrote a song for you and the place. BOY: Yeah, we wanna dedicate this song to you and Gerry. GERRY: For us? BOY: Hunh, yeah. GIRL: Youve been so wonderful, we needed encouragement and you gave it. GERRY: Hey, what time is the performance? Maybe we can make it. JOE: You know those things happen at night. BOY: Yeah, too bad cuz we would really dig it if you showed up at the joint. GIRL: Well, we better be going if we are going to be wide awake for the gig. JOE: Not until we hear our song. GERRY: Right, since you cant pay us the money you owe, ya gotta play Tommy Tucker and sing for your supper. GIRL: You want me to sing? BOY: You got the voice. GIRL: Well, I dont know. JOE: Whats there to know? Look at it this way, its a rehearsal before the performance tomorrow. GIRL: All right. BOY: Are you ready, Cher? GIRL: Yes, Sonny. LADY: Fuck you, mumble, mumble. GERRY: (To SHOPPING BAG LADY.) Please, sweety. JOE: Forget about her, she isnt listening or talking to anyone here but herself. Go ahead, kids. (The song, Greasy Spoon Blues. Words and music by Charles Coker. During the song the SHOPPING BAG LADY exits, mumbling profanities to whomever is listening.) GIRL: Bye, Joe. (BOY and GIRL exit.) JOE: Bye, kids. Break a leg tomorrow. (JAKE enters.)
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon GERRY: Yeah, break a leg. JAKE: Hey, nigger, whats happening? JOE: Jake, why do you always call me a nigger? JAKE: Because you are. GERRY: Hi, Jake, hows the parlor business coming along? JAKE: Great, cant do better if I try. I just got me two new girls. GERRY: Black? JAKE: Two tall Swedish blondes that are looking sweeter than a piece of watermelon on a hot sticky day in the city. JOE: Two blondes, huh? JAKE: Two blondes. GERRY: Two tall blondes? JAKE: Yep, two tall blondes. JOE: Blondes, huh? JAKE: Two tall big-tit blondes that are for real. I mean it aint dye either. That yellow goldness is for real . . . its natural. . . . I know cuz they got that yellow hair everywhere else too. GERRY: Natural blondes, huh?! JAKE: Natural blondes. JOE: They got yellow hair everywhere else? JAKE: All over! GERRY: All over? JAKE: Boy, I wish I had a tape recorder with me. GERRY: A tape recorder, what in heavens name for? JAKE: To get this all down for posterity. You guys sound like a couple of typical out-of-town businessmen in a cathouse. JOE: Well, we are a couple of businessmen, not from out of town, but businessmen nevertheless. You know, Jake, we werent exactly raised with the same disadvantages that you had to endure. JAKE: What disadvantages are you talking about? GERRY: Yeah, cuz I would also like to know. JOE: You know what I mean . . . this whole production number that you had to undergo since the curtain rose on your act . . . not having the same education that I and Gerry were fortunate enough to have, even though I never really finished high school, only because of the fact that I was the oldest of the family, and when my father died in the war I had to go out into the wide rushings of making a daily living for the rest of the kids. Not that Im complaining, you know, I mean, l loved doing what I did. . . . Show
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Miguel Piero biz is my cup of tea, every penny that I earned from hoofing it up, wherever the show boat stopped, went back home . . . and . . . GERRY: I thought you were an orphan, Joe. JOE: There you go again, Gerry, every time that I have this nigger by the balls, hanging onto every word, there you go again breaking up the story. JAKE: Joe . . . fifteen years JOE: Yeah, its been fifteen years. Well, what about it? JAKE: Do you think that I was really going for that cocknbull yarn you were spinning? JOE: Im sure that if this klondike over here hadnt interrupted, you wouldve been standing there with your tongue hanging out, hanging, yeah . . . yeah . . . and what happened next, Joe . . . ? JAKE: Joe, come on off it. JOE: Jake, I made my living spinning yams to suckers like you. JAKE: What kind of a car you drive, Joe? JOE: You know what kind of a car I drive. GERRY: Yeah, you gave it to him last Christmas. JAKE: Thats not what Im saying, Gerry. JOE: Well, if you are going to flaunt that present in my face and in front of strangers . . . GERRY: Strangers? Whos a stranger here? JOE: Gerry, why dont you go in the back and do something? JAKE: Yeah, Gerry, why dont you go take some meat in the back. GERRY: Why dont both of you get yourselves a nice job in a balloon factory blowing . . . JAKE: As you were saying, Joe. JOE: If you are going to flaunt that present in my face in front of strangers, then I suggest that you get me a Cadillac instead of that cheap second-hand station wagon that I drive from Honest Harry. JAKE: Joe, I drive a Cadillac on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On Fridays and Sundays, while I relax in my country home, I fool around with my Porsche and sometimes I even get a big kick by returning to this God-forsaken city in my Honda. So you see, Joe, all that bull about my disadvantaged childhood is just a lot of hot air blowing out your mouth. Actually, its a substitute for the bottom part of your body. (GERRY laughs.) JOE: It aint that funny, Gerry.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon GERRY: Youre big, Joe. The truth isnt always funny, but with you its a riot. JOE: Careful how you use that word around Jake, cuz you know what they say . . you can take the nigger out of the country but . . . JAKE: You cant take the country out of the nigger, and you know where that comes from, Joe. JOE: Sure, from where all sayings come from . . . wise thinking of a man of wisdom. JAKE: No. Not from any great man of wisdom, but from a truth that all niggers know about this country. GERRY: What truth, Jake? JOE: Dont fall for it, Gerry, hes pulling the same routine I pulled on him. JAKE: Its not a routine, Joe, its the real thing. Here we are reaching the heights of our existing on this planet . . . two hundred years old . . . weve just celebrated the birth of a freedom revolution that ceased being a revolution for freedom twenty-four hours after its conception. . . . As the years rolled by and the mentality of this country remained stagnant, the niggers in this country became angrier and angrier as they paid in blood in countless wars that cried out the words of liberty, justice and equality. We found ourselves being booed over and over again, no matter how many times we fought and died and bled in other lands for the sake of free enterprise and yet couldnt share in the profits . . . a free nation, a free people dedicated to the thought that all men are created equal up to the color of their skin, up to the pattern of your speech. Freedom became a whore, just like my ladies are. Theyre whores, but theyre whores that admit theyre whores, and when the time comes that they know it doesnt benefit them to be whores any longer they change with the times and become respectable, quote unquote, working women with a family to raise. . . . Here . . . here we have a whore calling herself libertyjustice-and-equality. Oh, yeah, shes a whore, I can see by the look in your face, Joe, that you dont like what I am saying, but I am a spade who likes calling it as it plays, liberty is a whore, justice is a whore and equality is a faggot. How does that grab you? . . . She is a whore who spreads her legs to the highest bidder. Justice is blind to everyone but to those that spread over her eyelids the greed mercurochrome that heals all wounds. She sees, and lib325

Miguel Piero erty is once again that night your sleeping companion . . . the great average typical all-American dollar, that is the miracle worker, that is the real equalizer. If your pockets are hungry, so is your stomach and so is your soul. All that to say what we were saying: You can take the niggers out of the country, but you cant take the country out of the nigger. All the niggers, white as well as black, the niggers who feel that they have a right to everything that this country has to offer them, the white niggers who built the railroads from the East, the yellow niggers who built the railroad from the West, the black niggers who built this land from all over, the rest of the niggers that died and crippled their lives so that all of us niggers can be a part of this great concept called America, land of the free. Death remembers the songs of false democracy. You understand what I am saying . . . its like this . . . I remember after that prison rebellion in Attica . . . a politician said when Americans prefer to die than to live one more day in this country, its time we start examining ourselves. I dont know if those were his exact words, but they had an effect on me. Joe, I did just that. I started to examine what my responsibilities were as a citizen of the greatest nation on the face of the earth. Am I or am I not . . . if I am, then its time that I behave like one . . . how do you see yourself? JOE: I hope to see that I fulfill myself here everyday that the sun shines. GERRY: So do I. JOE: What brought this all about in you today, Jake? JAKE: I dont know. Maybe its reading that an eleven-year-old child O.D.d in Harlem while an eleven-year-old in Scarsdale won the spelling bee for his district. Maybe its age . . . maybe its after knowing you fifteen years . . . you reacted pretty strange to the fact that I hired two white blonde girls to work in the parlor. JOE: Wait a second . . . you didnt take me seriously, did you? JAKE: Maybe I did without realizing it, maybe I did. JOE: Well, you shouldnt, cuz you know that I dont give a damn about who works for you or what their line of work is, as long as they respect me and whats mine. GERRY: Yeah, you should know Joe better by now . . . fifteen years, damn if you dont.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JAKE: Yeah, and he even had dinner with me once in his home, his very own home, though he never came to my house to eat. JOE: You know it could be because you never invited me, ever thought of that? JAKE: Hell, thats right, I never did, did I? JOE: No, you never did. JAKE: And you know what, I never will. JOE: The hell with you, you nigger. GERRY: Things are back to normal. JAKE: They always were. JOE: Thats great to hear. GERRY: Two big-tit blondes, huh? JAKE: Yep, two real big-tit blondes. JOE: Yellow everywhere, huh? JAKE: Yep, everywhere. JOE: And they let you see it, huh? JAKE: Well, if they didnt, they wouldnt be working for me, Joe. JOE: Well, have they got any sense of shame? JAKE: Why? Cuz they are working in a massage parlor thats a front for a you-know-what or because they let a big black ugly nigger like me see their private parts, eh? JOE: As for the first part of your question, if they want that kind of work, thats their business, not mine. To each his own, right Gerry? JAKE: Dont ask Gerry, because hes been up there. JOE: You have? GERRY: Yeah, well . . . sure, but just out of curiosity. JAKE: Out of what? JOE: He said out of curiosity. JAKE: I heard what he said. Its just that I couldnt believe that I heard what he said. JOE: Repeat what you said for the gentleman, Gerry. JAKE: He dont have to because you dont believe him and you know that I know you dont believe him. GERRY: Hey, the News is here. JOE: Ill get it. JAKE: Thats okay, Joe, relax, Ill bring them in for you. JOE: (Handing JAKE a check.) Here, Jake, give the driver this check for me.
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Miguel Piero JAKE: Sure . . . (JAKE exits.) JOE: How come you didnt tell me you were up at Jakes place? GERRY: Well, Joe, you see, I was passing by one late afternoon, not having anything to do and well, you know, knowing Jake all these years and not ever being up to his place of business, well, I figure . . . JOE: I know . . . I know . . . since hes such a good and steady customer, you wanted . . . GERRY: Exactly. JOE: One hand washes the other. GERRY: Just what I was thinking on that very day. JOE: I bet. GERRY: Well, you know, Joe, theres still a lot of something in this old man. JOE: How was the merchandise? (JAKE enters.) JAKE: Here you are, Joe . . . let me take out five of these for my girls. They get bored after a while, you know, they need things to read. I always believe that they should keep abreast of whats going on in the world . . . they need to have more to say to the customers. GERRY: The merchandise is excellent, not like the rest of the trash out there. JOE: Maybe Ill take a look-see. JAKE: You should. Thats always advisable at your age . . . see what you can handle before you get involved. JOE: I dont remember asking for your advice, Mister Jake Andrews. JAKE: Well, normally, Jake Andrews Esquire requires a small fee for advice, but since were such bosom buddies, I thought Id give it to you free of charge, but dont make it a habit. JOE: Thats the mistake of your career, Jake, you think . . . (ZULMA enters from the kitchen in her waitress outfit. SHE has removed her wig and cleaned the make-up off her face.) ZULMA: Hows this, fellas? JOE: Get back into the kitchen, theres talk going on in here that a woman shouldnt hear. ZULMA: Oh, you got to be kidding. Hey, hi, Jake, hows the girls? JAKE: Zulu baby . . . whatre you doing in that get-up? JOE: Zulu baby? GERRY: Zulu baby? ZULMA: There they go again.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JAKE: There who goes again? ZULMA: The gold dust twins. JOE: Zulu baby? ZULMA: Yeah, Zulu! Its a nickname. Dont you guys have nicknames? . . . You know, like when youre a kid growing up and you get a name tagged on . . . Sinky . . . Tubby . . . JAKE: These guys were born standing up. JOE: But Zulu! JAKE: And whats wrong with Zulu? ZULMA: Yeah, what is wrong with Zulu? I like it, as a matter of fact. GERRY: To each his own. ZULMA: And what do you have? JAKE: These guys havent got nothing but the lard in the frying pan to talk to. JOE: At least if the lard is hot it tells you. JAKE: It does, does it? You talk to the lard? . . . little spoonfuls or big globs of it? JOE: Oh, oh, oh, very funny . . . very funny!! GERRY: Five thousand comics out of work and he wants to be a comedian. JAKE: I didnt think it was funny. I was asking a very serious question. ZULMA: Yeah, he wasnt the one who said that he talks to the lard in the frying pan. GERRY: You two should appear on stage at the Palace. JOE: You two are really funny. Ill bet youll be a regular hit with the drunks. JAKE: I dont think were funny. If I did, I would have tried the stage, like you did. JOE: Yeah, well I think that I am going . . . JAKE: I saw you play the Lyric once when I was young. JOE: You did? . . . you saw me on stage? JAKE: Sure did. JOE: Really! GERRY: Joe, hes trying to . . . JOE: Be quiet, Gerry . . . cant you see the man is saying something important. GERRY: Joe, hes only trying . . . JAKE: No, really, I did see him play on stage.
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Miguel Piero GERRY: Come on, you really expect me to believe that? JAKE: He used to do a comic routine and then your partner would come on and do a soft shoe, right? JOE: The Lyric . . . that was one of my favorite places. JAKE: Am I right? You were billed as Jack and Jill. JOE: Thats right. Gee, you remember . . . after all these years too. JAKE: Oh, why wouldnt I remember. You were terrific. JOE: Well, we was good. JAKE: Good . . . you were great . . . everyone would just sit there after the movie and wait for you two to come on with the real show. JOE: The real show? JAKE: Yeah, man, the real show. GERRY: You really saw him play at the Lyric? JAKE: Sure, just before the war, I think. You know its been a long time. JOE: You know, when I was a kid I was brought up in an orphanage. GERRY: No, I didnt know that. JOE: My parents were killed in an automobile accident at the age of three. GERRY: Gee, I bet that was tough on you. JOE: No, not really, being so young I really didnt feel the loss that great. JAKE: I lost my folks too, at an early age . . . didnt go to no orphanage, though . . . my grandmother raised me . . . and with an iron hand and the cord. JOE: The cord I remember only too well, the hurt it can inflict on a young child. JAKE: Especially if its in the hands of strangers. JOE: Especially in the hands of strangers. GERRY: You two got a lot in common. (Telephone rings.) ZULMA: Ill get it . . . Joes Diner . . . sorry, no deliveries tonight, cant be helped . . . sorry . . . tomorrow . . . bye. . . . You were saying, Joe? JOE: I was in the place a few years, couldnt get adopted . . . every Sunday in summer they would have an invited performer come to entertain the kids. Once these two black men came in and they were really funny, they made me forget all the heartaches that flowed inside my soul. . . . I was never a cute kid, so no one would even take me home for the weekends. They came on stage and
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon told some really funny stories and they did a song and dance number . . . I looked around me and saw all those smiling faces and I began to sing out loud with the two men on stage. They called me with them and I joined them in the song . . . not the dancing, though. I never seen anyone dance like those two guys did. Boy, they could really move . . . later that week they came back and visited with me. I was surprised, to say the least, when the administrator let them come in for the month they played in town and teach me their routine. That Fourth of July I went on stage with them and, let me tell you, I was the happiest kid in the place. . . . Soon they left and I never saw them again . . . but I kept on practicing how to dance and tried different jokes and stories at night on the other kids. Soon, I never wanted to be anything else but an entertainer . . . but life being what it is, I found myself drifting as a short order cook . . . not that theres anything wrong with being a short order cook, especially being part owner. . . . I always dreamt that I would . . . well, so many dreams. . . never growing old . . . ahead of death by two yards . . . yet . . . here I am . . . I cant even remember the routine that I used to do, I . . . I, well . . . life sometimes leaves no room for a celebration . . . your greatest moments become objects of torment . . . but I guess I should thank the Lord for each dream. Even if the dream never came true, at least I had the opportunity to have dreams . . . you reach a certain time in life . . . you find yourself wandering about in countless acres of flowers and one day it dawns on you: Butterflies . . . thousands and thousands of butterflies . . . and no more flowers are growing. . . . (ZULMA begins to sing Moonlight Bay. JOE joins in. They do a vaudeville soft-shoe routine, JAKE and GERRY hum along.) JAKE: A bit rusty. JOE: Go screw yourself. GERRY: Whatll it be, Jake? ZULMA: Ill make it . . . youll be my first customer. JAKE: Great . . . two coffees regular and a bacon and egg sandwich to go. ZULMA: Two coffees and a B&E to travel, coming right up. GERRY: Got it? ZULMA: (Exiting to kitchen.) Got it. JAKE: Then get it, already.
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Miguel Piero JOE: Hold your horses. JAKE: Hey, what happened to Dominick? . . . that funny Greek guy you had working here? JOE: He got picked up by the Feds. JAKE: When? GERRY: Earlier this evening. JAKE: No shh . . . really, what for? JOE: Naw, Im not going to tell you. JAKE: Hey, come on . . . all right, dont tell me . . . come on, tell me, what for? JOE: Seems Dominick was a top syndicate hit man. He was posing as a jerk to get closer to a certain pseudo-hip black, would-be king of the pimps. GERRY: You know, Jake, youre the only man I know whose head is as pointed as his shoes. JAKE: Okay. Enough! Hey, baby, dont burn the bacon. (Goes to jukebox.) Hey, you know my cousin Rufus . . . the one in the hospital? JOE: Cant say I do. JAKE: No, seriously speaking. JOE: Still cant say that I do. GERRY: Never mentioned him to me either . . . Rufus . . . Rufus . . . with a name like that I would have remembered him if you had said anything about him. JAKE: Sure I did . . . well, anyway, he was in the hospital for an operation . . . I forgot what was wrong with him. . . . But, anyway, the doctors gave him an operation all right, they cut off both of his legs and there was nothing wrong with his legs. They made a mistake on the chart. Anyway, thats what they are saying. They cut both of his legs right above the knees, so he cant even walk. GERRY: Hes going to sue, right? JOE: Of course, hes going to sue, hes got an open-and-shut case. JAKE: Well, thats what we all thought until last week when we went to court and the jury didnt vote in his favor. JOE: They didnt what? GERRY: What do you mean, they didnt vote in his favor! They cut off both of the poor slobs legs and they found him . . . JAKE: Yeah, I know the way you feel, but the court was right. JOE: The court was right, what kind of crap is that?
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon GERRY: Yeah, what kind of crap is that? He should have sued their asses off. JAKE: Well, he lost the case because of one thing, only one little fault. JOE: One little fault! The man doesnt have his legs anymore and you call that a little fault. JAKE: Thats why he lost the case. GERRY: Why? JAKE: Well, you see, he didnt have a leg to stand on. ZULMA: (From kitchen window.) You two fell for the old hokey dokey. GERRY: He was pulling our leg all the time. JAKE: Just like the doctors pulled old Rufus legs off. He didnt have a leg to stand on. JOE: (To ZULMA.) Get back to the stove. ZULMA: Whats the matter, you cant stand being taken for a ride. (ZULMA exits to the kitchen.) JOE: You know thats one of my old routines. JAKE: Sure, it is. I was surprised you didnt catch on sooner. JOE: He didnt have a leg to stand on. GERRY: You wanna hear a new Polish joke? JAKE: Naw. JOE: Have you got any nice nigger jokes? JAKE: A Jewish joke. ZULMA: (Entering from kitchen.) Heres your things, Jake. JAKE: Thanks, baby . . . you know Im going to come here even more than before. I only come here as a last resort, like when everything else is closed. Thats why hes open so late. If it closed any earlier, no one would come in here to . . . JOE: Can it, Jake, can it. JAKE: Give me a couplea them donuts. ZULMA: What kind? We got jelly . . . chocolate and . . . JAKE: Two jelly. JOE: Jake, for you theyre seventy-five cents apiece. JAKE: Seventy-five cents apiece, are you for real? JOE: Yes and so are the jelly donuts too. ZULMA: Cant you see it in his baby-brown eyes that he is? JAKE: Seventy-five cents apiece! Thats highway robbery! JOE: Seventy-five cents, take it or leave it. JAKE: You got any matches, Joe?
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Miguel Piero JOE: Its a penny a book. JAKE: (Tossing a penny on the counter.) Here, dont spend it all in one place. JOE: Thank you . . . and I wont . . . pennies make dollars. JAKE: So Ive heard. (ZULMA exits to pay phone.) GERRY: The phone is for customers only, Zulma. . . no out calls except on your break and then we would appreciate it if youd go out and make it on the corner. ZULMA: What! No calls? JOE: Thats our policy . . . no calls except emergency. (ZULMA exits to the street.) You got what you wanted, now what else can we serve you? JAKE: Thats what I like about this place, the hospitality that one receives. Makes your eyes want to water with tears . . . just like you know what this place makes me remember . . . the night that I was invited to a great outdoors party by the Ku Klux Klan and I was going to be the guest of honor . . . I always felt guilty that I didnt make that shindig, but you know a man of my importance just cant make every party hes invited to. JOE: I bet they were put off by your absence. JAKE: Shit, I know they were. GERRY: Why dont you two cut it out for a little while? JOE: Cut what out? JAKE: Cut what out? GERRY: The bullshit. (ZULMA enters.) ZULMA: My sister doesnt answer the phone . . . I get a little worried. JOE: You wanna go over and see if she needs anything? ZULMA: Naw . . . you know its cold out there tonight. . . . I couldnt believe it, a two-car accident happened as I walked from here to the phone on the corner. What a place this town is. . . . Some day, I think Ill leave this town for good, never come back. GERRY: How many times in your life have you said that? ZULMA: Since I first got off the train in 1954 . . . I wanted to go right back, but I didnt, I stuck it out to reach the pedestals of failure. I never set out to be a giant in the theatre world or in any world, for that matter, I just wanted to be a part of wherever I was, to be noticed, to be recognized for what I brought to the atmosphere. I never asked anyone to give me for my talent or for any type of work that I put out there from my soul.
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JOE: Do we have to go through your life history again? JAKE: I kinda like listening to life histories. GERRY: So do I, but once is enough for me. JOE: You can say that again. GERRY: So do I, but once is enough for me. JOE: Really, Gerry, youre getting cornier by the day. GERRY: Its the sun, Joe . . . the sun ripens me up. JOE: It does something to you, all right. The sun did something to me too. GERRY: No, shit, Sherlock. JOE: Hey, Zulma, you wanna fix some fresh coffee? ZULMA: Okay, Joe. JAKE: Well, I think its time that I be leaving or else the girls are going to think that the earth swallowed me up. JOE: Okay, Jake, take care of yourself and give the girls a hello for me. GERRY: For me, too. JOE: I knew youd say that, Gerry. ZULMA: Oh! So you guys know Jakes girls. JOE: I dont know them personally, at least I mean I dont know them, but theres someone else here that does! ZULMA: Who is that? JOE: (Imitating various movie villains.) What you take me for, a squealer . . . a fink . . . a rat . . . a stool pidgeon, I wont talk, thats not my cup of tea . . . I wont talk, but if you look at the person Ill whistle Dixie. JAKE: Yeah, youll whistle Dixie all right when you drop in the parlor and see those two blondes. JOE: Not me! JAKE: Yep, you and Gerry. Joe, youre no different than any other man who lives alone and needs the companionship that a woman can give. They feel good and youll feel good and I feel good. When people feel good I make money and that makes me feel extra good. You see, in a way, its like a therapy program and Im Doctor Feelgood. . . . I can probably pick up a masters degree on feelgood sometime in some college . . . what do you think, Joe, is there a course in college that trains men and women in my profession, making people feel good, making lonely men who cant seem to find the right kind of talk for a woman feel good, old men
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Miguel Piero who cant make the grade anymore, give them a chance to feel like a man again? JOE: I know you fifteen years, right? JAKE: Yeah, fifteen miserable years. Hey, thats a real long time. GERRY: (Opening the cash register.) Any more quarters in the box, Joe? JOE: Naw, youre going to have to go to the bank later on today. GERRY: Okay, will do. JOE: Fifteen years, right? JAKE: Right. JOE: For fifteen years, just like tonight, you come in here and call me a nigger and you know something, Jake, I dont like it. I dont like it one bit. I dont like being called a nigger by you or any other nigger. Get that straight. JAKE: Ive been called a nigger all my life. JOE: Well, Jake, I cant help it if you are one. (GERRY breaks into a roar of laughter. ZULMA joins in on the joke. JOE begins to laugh too. JAKE starts to laugh. JOE begins to shake, to choke. HE lets out a stifled yelp. HE falls to the floor.) JAKE: Hey, man, come on, dont joke like that man, come on, man, be cool. GERRY: Joe, Joe, come on, Joe. Hes right, dont joke like this. ZULMA: Joe . . . Joe . . . JAKE: Zulu, call the police . . . call an ambulance, hurry. ZULMA: (At phone.) Right . . . Right . . . hello, operator . . . damn it to hell. JAKE: Quick, go out and get a cop. ZULMA: Ill go. Hold on, Joe, Ill be right back. (ZULMA exits.) GERRY: Oh, Joe, please dont do this, Joe, dont you go and die on me. Joe. JAKE: Joe, Joe, hang in there, baby, hang in there, you can beat it. JOE: Gerry . . . Gerry . . . Gerry!! GERRY: Im right here, Joe. Im right here. Im not going anywhere. Im right by your side. JOE: Oh, Gerry, I thought it would be different. GERRY: Save your energy, Joe. Dont talk . . . JOE: Wheres that nigger? JAKE: Joe, baby, be cool man, Gerrys right, save your energy. JOE: Two big-tit natural blondes, hey?
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Midnight Moon at the Greasy Spoon JAKE: Forget about that, Joe, save your energy man, be cool. JOE: Two big-tit natural blondes, I bet thats something to see. JAKE: Youll see them, Joe, youll see them. Ill bring them around for you. JOE: Dont look like that, Gerry . . . leave. Gerry . . . go away. GERRY: What are you talking about, Joe, Im staying right here with you. JOE: No . . . no . . . leave, Gerry. . . cuz Im leaving soon . . . go away, take a trip. JAKE: (Crossing to the door.) Wheres Zulu with the cop? JOE: Forget about the cop, you cant ever get one when you need one. GERRY: Please, Joe, take it easy, everything is going to be all right. JOE: Jake, tell him about Europe. JAKE: I dont know anything about Europe. JOE: Damn it, nigger, you could lie. JAKE: Yeah, I could lie, Europe is . . . JOE: Listen to him, Gerry, listen to him and leave this place before it kills you. Oh, look at this. Im pissing in my pants. Gerry . . . Jake, dont tell anyone about this. JAKE: Oh, Joe, take it easy, please, man. GERRY: Please, Joe, dont die on me, please, Joe, dont leave me alone. I have nobody but you, Joe, please dont . . . JOE: Gerry . . . Gerry . . . Im tired of hanging in there . . . Jake . . . look at this, Im farting my life away . . . I feel like a baby . . . GERRY: Oh, God, please help him, dont let him die on me, dont take him away from me, please, God, please. JOE: Gerry . . . Gerry . . . I cant think of anything famous to say . . . Fade to black.

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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief

Characters DAVID DANCER (early thirties) ROSEMARIE PAULS (early thirties) NICOLE PAULS (teenager) TERRY LOGAN (late twenties) ELAINE (LANEY) (teenager) RITA BARKELY (teenager) MILES (late fifties) CARLOS (early twenties)

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Miguel Piero ACT I SCENE 1: An apartment in north Philadelphia. Most of the play area is the living room, kitchen and bedroom. TIME: The present. (DAVID in bedroom. ROSEMARIE in kitchen. Entrance to apartment is through kitchen.) DAVID: Hey, Rosemarie, you know who I ran into today? ROSEMARIE: What ya say? DAVID: Flaco, I ran into Flaco today. ROSEMARIE: Oh, yeah, hows he doing? DAVID: Bad, real bad. Hes greasy. I mean real greasy, greasier than a pork chop from a soul shop. ROSEMARIE: Thats too bad. He was such a nice dude. DAVID: Yeah, he sure was, wasnt he? ROSEMARIE: Yeah, he was. DAVID: I also saw Terry Logan down in Center City. ROSEMARIE: Terry Logan? DAVID: Yeah, Terry Logan from New York City. ROSEMARIE: Terry Logan, do I know him? DAVID: Yeah, you know him. Hes the fellow that put us up in Brooklyn. ROSEMARIE: Oh, yeah, I remember him. Whats he doing in Philly? DAVID: Same thing we were doing in New York. ROSEMARIE: I hope you invited him over if he needs a place to stay. DAVID: Naw, he has a place in the south side, but I told him to come over if he wanted to party sometime. ROSEMARIE: Thats nice. We owe him a solid. DAVID: Thats what I figured you say, so I told him to drop over tonight. ROSEMARIE: Tonight? DAVID: Yeah, tonight. ROSEMARIE: Oh, thats right. We have Nicole coming over with some friends, right? DAVID: Right. ROSEMARIE: What time you tell him to come by? DAVID: Any time after 8.
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief ROSEMARIE: Thats cool. DAVID: Hey, have you seen my light blue pants? ROSEMARIE: Theyre in the cleaners. I dropped them off this morning while you were asleep. The telephone man came by, too. DAVID: He fix the damn thing? ROSEMARIE: Yeah, a crossed wire or something was wrong with it. I really dont remember what he said was wrong with it . . . DAVID: Do I got any clean socks around? ROSEMARIE: In the bag on the sofa. DAVID: (DAVID enters living room). I see it . . . ROSEMARIE: Bring the bag in here DAVID: Here catch. (Throws bag.) Here are my old smelly socks. Put them under your pillow for safekeeping. (HE comes out of room, attacks her with a pillow. SHE runs into bedroom. Grabs a pillow, A friendly pillow fight ensues.) DAVID: Hey, baby, lets fuck before your sister arrives. ROSEMARIE: Come on . . . (They run into the bedroom. The doorbell rings.) DAVID: Aw, shit, goddamn it. . . . Hey, Nicole, hows your whatyamacollit? NICOLE: My whatyamacollit is all right, and her whatyamacollit is all right too and, by the way, whatyamacollits name is Fenders and hes a nice guy, whatyamacallit. DAVID: Okay, okay, you dont have to bite my head off, whatyamacallit. ROSEMARIE: Leave my mans head alone, find your own head to bite on. NICOLE: Hi, baby, how you been? . . . This gorilla treating you like a queen? ROSEMARIE: If he dont, Ill be long gone. DAVID: Doors open. ROSEMARIE: If I took that seriously, Id hit the streets in a hot second. DAVID: Like I said, the door is open. You can book out of here anytime you want, girl . . . if you can walk with a broken leg. NICOLE: Ill carry her out. DAVID: With your arms in a sling, thats a good trick if you can pull it off. NICOLE: What you got for the head beside a comb?
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Miguel Piero ROSEMARIE: Theres some smoke in the jar over by the set. DAVID: Theres some beer in the frig . . . and rum in the cabinet. NICOLE: Well, all right . . . lead me to some smoke. ROSEMARIE: You got to roll it yourself. NICOLE: No big problem there, honey. ROSEMARIE: I gather that much just by the stains on your fingers. NICOLE: Thats a little problem Ive been trying to get rid of. ROSEMARIE: I have something for that, honey. Come in here. NICOLE: You know after a while the reefer really stains your fingers bad. (The phone rings as NICOLE exits into kitchen.) DAVID: I hear . . . hello . . . oh, hi . . . so whats happening with the coke? Nothing huh. . . shit, thats bad . . . naw I was counting on doing up some blow tonight. . . . Yeah, I got a friend dropping by tonight. . . . No, a guy I know from the Big Apple. . . . No, really a guy . . . I . . . oh, fuck you, man. . . . So hows the kids? Thats good . . . and Sheila . . . she got over that cold? Oh, good . . . well, tell her I said hello . . . yeah . . . okay, and give my best to the kids too . . . yeah, Im gonna come out and see them soon . . . no, nothing special. . . . If you want to drop by later tonight, do so, okay? Then Ill see you tomorrow at work . . . No, everything is still a go for the thing tomorrow morning. . . . Have a nice sleep, okay, okay, bye . . . catch you later. That was Brains on the phone. . . . He said nothing is happening with the snow. . . . All he got is monster left . . . what . . . I hate speed. ROSEMARIE: I said that Nicole brought some with her. DAVID: Coke? ROSEMARIE: No, her kotexes. DAVID: Shit, Ill sniff them up, too . . . the way that sister of yours is looking these days . . . theyll give me a . . . ROSEMARIE: Oh, shut up . . . you . . . you pre-vert . . . shes only sixteen. DAVID: Ripe as a melon. NICOLE: Here, I only have a little bit of C left but its yours. DAVID: A little bit from Nicole . . . thank you. ROSEMARIE: Youre quite welcome. DAVID: Come ere girl . . . ROSEMARIE: Get away from me, you degenerate. DAVID: Come ere , sugar, share some of this with me. ROSEMARIE: No, thank you.
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief DAVID: You dont want none really? ROSEMARIE: No, theres not enough for the both of us . . . so you take it yourself. DAVID: Isnt this something, sacrificing like that . . . NICOLE: Above and beyond the call of duty. ROSEMARIE: Yes, all that, and also I already had some in the bathroom. DAVID: Oh, shit, you had me believing all that crap . . . you spoil a wet dream. NICOLE: The crowning glory of his life has been a wet dream. DAVID: High school wise-ass . . . but not a bad-looking ass at that . . . ROSEMARIE: Back, boy . . . back. NICOLE: Youre too old for me. DAVID: Dont you believe in a second childhood? NICOLE: Yeah, but not for you . . . you havent even reached adulthood yet. DAVID: Sit on this and rotate. (Showing her his middle finger.) NICOLE: I would if I could, I cant so I wont. DAVID: Hey, by the way, hows your brother doing? Rosemarie told me this morning you was going to drop off and see him today at the hospital. NICOLE: Hes coming along pretty well, considering they cant take out the bullet yet. . . . It dug deep in the brain. Doctor says he may lose his eyesight. DAVID: Well, he did it to himself, you know. I mean, like I told him that guy in the store was pretty hard up for money. You saw that big-ass dog he keeps in the place . . . the one your brother killed in the holdup, that was a mean-ass dog, almost tore your brothers stomach open, didnt he? Yep, bad-ass dog, kept mean and vicious by a money-starved man. . . . Bad business, bad business . . . you know we been setting up this A & P for about three weeks now, right? . . . And Pan was suppose to be in on it, a much safer job than those small stores on the avenue. I mean these storekeepers are doing about as bad as we are in these times, right? And the people that work for them now-a-days take their position very serious, sometimes you got to whip them up a little before they give in . . . times are changing for the worst. There was a time when a man could go into a store, pull out his roscoe, take the money and split . . . no trouble, no hassle, no big thing. . . . Now,
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Miguel Piero today you got to beat them over the head or shoot them in the leg or something violent like that, you know what I mean? . . . This business is getting more and more hazardous as the years go by, you know. Its the government thats to blame for all this . . . violent crimes . . . and Hollywood, too. I mean all these dumb movies about men and women taking the law into their own hands, karate this and kung-fu that. . . . Why do you think I gave up the mugging business? . . . cause everytime you pulled a blade on someone, they been taking up karate lessons in some rip-off place . . . I mean a jerk learns a couple of self-defense moves and already he thinks hes Bruce Lees second cousin, so you end up stabbing the poor idiot in self defense. Then if you get busted, its no longer a simple mugging, no its attempted murder with a felony to boot. . . . Cant wait to get the hell out of the business . . . theres no compensation that goes along with the job, no Medicare, no Blue Cross or Red Cross, theres no crosses at all except the ones we put ourselves into . . . theres two many informers out there . . . theres too many prisons, too many cops, not enough professional people in the streets, all these novices robbing people. I know a guy, a friend of mines, right, cases this liquor store for three days . . . he has everything set . . . what happens as hes in the store, preparing himself to make the hit . . . these two teenage kids come in with shotguns, announce a stickup, they get nervous, uptight and they blow the manager away and blew my friends leg off, very unprofessional, no talent whatsoever. . . . Anyway, he got to waste one of them as they left the store, but then he was booked on carrying a concealed, unregistered weapon and involuntary manslaughter . . . they threw the case out of court but gave him six months on the weapons charge . . . him being on parole had to go back on a violation for another six months, so he ends up doing a year . . . all that and, you know what, these kids got away with guess . . . fifty-six dollars . . . really ridiculous. Now John is on welfare, taking the citys handout, a nice independent man like him on welfare. . . . Its a crying shame . . . a real shame . . . but those are the breaks of life . . . but I got things pretty well down pat for my move out of this place . . . these next two jobs should wheel me in enough bread to retire to a nice place in South America . . . yep, gonna be a farmer out in South America, gonna grow marijuana and import cocaine . . . I think things are gonna work
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief out for the best in the end of this chapter of my life . . . but I am really sorry about Pan, though, I mean hes a great wheelman, stupid of him to carry a gun . . . should have stuck to his own thing. But like I say, its a small-time thiefs fate to hit upon someone whos been taking karate lessons. NICOLE: Those are the breaks of life. DAVID: Those are the breaks of life. ROSEMARIE: You want a beer, baby? DAVID: No, thanks, honey. ROSEMARIE: How about you, Nicole? NICOLE: Not now, thanks. ROSEMARIE: Well, Im getting one, and I am not sharing with anyone. DAVID: Capitalist. NICOLE: Imperialist. ROSEMARIE: Dont forget warmonger. NICOLE and DAVID: Warmonger. ROSEMARIE: You see, that always works. I feel guilty as all hell. (Enters kitchen.) NICOLE: Did you tell her yet? DAVID: No, not yet. NICOLE: When? DAVID: Soon, baby, soon. NICOLE: How soon? DAVID: Real soon, dont worry. ROSEMARIE: (From kitchen.) You want a rum and Coke, anybody? DAVID: Yeah, I do. NICOLE: Me, too, Ill have one, too . . . make it sooner than that. DAVID: Dont threaten me, baby, I dont like that. NICOLE: Its not a threat. DAVID: Just so you know where I stand, I dont like being bossed around by anyone at all, you get me? NICOLE: Its not a threat. I went to the doctor this morning. Thats why I told Rosemarie I went to see Panama at the hospital. DAVID: You went to the doctor, for what? NICOLE: I missed my period this month. DAVID: So what, you might get a double period at the end of next month. NICOLE: Be serious.
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Miguel Piero DAVID: Okay, Im serious, now what? ROSEMARIE: Youre serious about what? DAVID: Oh . . . hmm . . . about leaving the business forever, moving out to South America. ROSEMARIE: Oh, hes serious about that, all right, we already got passports. NICOLE: Passports? ROSEMARIE: Yes, dear, you cant get out the country without them. NICOLE: You didnt say anything about passports. DAVID: I figure you would figure that out yourself, baby. NICOLE: Im beginning to. ROSEMARIE: Whats the matter, baby? NICOLE: Nothing, Rosemarie, just that it took me by surprise, thats all. ROSEMARIE: Oh, dont worry about it . . . well be coming back now and then. DAVID: Yeah, we will . . . NICOLE: I bet you will. ROSEMARIE: Aw, shes feeling rejected. NICOLE: In more ways than one. DAVID: Well, you shouldnt . . . you know what they say about the best laid plans . . . NICOLE: No, I dont. DAVID: Read about it . . . NICOLE: When I get to college. ROSEMARIE: Pull in your claws, honey. NICOLE: Im sorry, it just that, well, I guess you know what I mean. ROSEMARIE: We do, baby . . . but well send for you during summer vacations. DAVID: Sure, we will . . . look, lets get off this subject, okay? ROSEMARIE: Sure. DAVID: Nicole . . . NICOLE: Yeah, Im getting bored with it. DAVID: I already feel that way. ROSEMARIE: Good. DAVID: Okay. These two that you got coming today, what you know about them?
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief NICOLE: They need some bread to get some things that they cant afford. They told their parents that they were going to sit tonight, that theyd be a little late, if you know what I mean. DAVID: Next, youll be curling up your moustache, Dastardly Dan. ROSEMARIE: Come on, David, drop it. DAVID: Did you break it down for them as far as dollars and cents goes? NICOLE: Course. DAVID: Last time those two little money-hungry friends of yours gave me a real hard time. . . . You know I really dont need to do this shit, I only do it so that you can get a couple of bucks in your pocketbook. NICOLE: I heard you run the same story over and over again, and I still dont buy it . . . DAVID: You really dont believe me, that I dont need to be doing this shit? ROSEMARIE: Of course, she believes you. DAVID: No, no, lets get this here thing straightened out right now. You think that I need to take the chances of being arrested. NICOLE: Well, if you need it or not, youre taking the chances, right? DAVID: This is it . . . David Dancer, this is it . . . after today, no more of this penny-ante pimp routine for you, not in your house, baby. ROSEMARIE: David, please, dont fly off the handle like that, baby. DAVID: Dont fly off the what . . . ROSEMARIE: Baby, please, your blood pressure . . . DAVID: Did you hear what came out of this young girls mouth? . . . She really thinks we need this shit to survive . . . NICOLE: I didnt say that you did. DAVID: If I hadnt said it, you would have. NICOLE: Youll never know that now, will you? DAVID: Thats it . . . this is it, no more after today . . . you and your little friends are going to have to find another place to make your babysitting money. . . . The nerve of this woman to think that I David Dancer needs a sixteen-year-old girl to help get over. . . . I was . . . no, I aint going to get into the way I walked barefoot to school routine with you cause you wouldnt believe it either . . . the phone, Rosemarie . . . ROSEMARIE: Okay, I hear it, you dont have to shout. DAVID: Sorry, baby . . . who is it . . .
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Miguel Piero ROSEMARIE: Wrong number. DAVID: Wrong number? ROSEMARIE: Wrong number . . . havent you ever heard of a wrong number? DAVID: David Dancer never gets a wrong number. ROSEMARIE: Well, you got one now. DAVID: Next time Ill answer the phone, and youll see that I never, in all the years that I have had a phone, have never not once ever have I received a wrong number. (NICOLE gets up, does an up-tempo marching song. Her voice acting as instruments.) NICOLE: America, you have had another first. David Dancer has received his first wrong number. ROSEMARIE: Nicole, calm down. DAVID: You see what I mean, she doesnt believe anything I say. Shes always calling me a liar in a direct or indirect way. ROSEMARIE: Well, she is a little skeptic, runs in the family. DAVID: A little skeptic. NICOLE: Skeptics run in the family. DAVID: You know whats going to run in the family pretty soon is broken jaws and missing front teeth. ROSEMARIE: Well, were not exactly twins, you know. NICOLE: Copping out on me, huh? ROSEMARIE: Well, to put it mildly, yes. DAVID: Skeptic, thats a good one. NICOLE: Cant wait to hear what happens when you receive your first obscene phone call. You should get in touch with the world book of records. DAVID: Youre a regular riot, girl. ROSEMARIE: You guys act like a . . . couple . . . of lovers . . . DAVID: What did you say . . . come on, speak up . . . ROSEMARIE: Nothing . . . its nothing . . . I was speaking to myself. DAVID: Thats all right to speak to yourself, but when you start answering yourself, thats when you should start thinking about seeing someone for help. NICOLE: Oh, Johnny Carson will just love you. DAVID: As much as you do. NICOLE: Maybe a little less. ROSEMARIE: Lets set up the place. These people should be arriving soon.
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief NICOLE: Whos coming for my girls? DAVID: Theyre all right, two hicks . . . NICOLE: Do they want to make a scene of it? DAVID: Naw, I dont think so . . . you know, very macho and shit uptight. NICOLE: Factory workers again. DAVID: They got a little bread. NICOLE: Thats just it, they have a little bread, not much more than a little. DAVID: Maybe you should start your own recruiting service, too. NICOLE: Theres no maybe about that, Mr. David Dancer? ROSEMARIE: How many joints should we roll up? DAVID: About ten should do it. NICOLE: Are you charging for the joints again, Mr. David Dancer? DAVID: Yes, I am young lady, thats ten dollars that we can use to buy toilet paper. The way you run your mouth off, anyone would think you have diarrhea in your tonsils. NICOLE: Funny . . . oh my, youre so funny . . . who opened the door to your cage? DAVID: The heat between your legs melted the steel bars like butter. ROSEMARIE: Im going into the kitchen to roll, you want to help me, Nicole? DAVID: She cant help herself, she going to help you? ROSEMARIE: Coming? NICOLE: Yeah, yeah, Im coming . . . hold your horses. DAVID: Hurry, hurry, step right up and see the youngest madame in town. NICOLE: Are you going to tell her? DAVID: Not now . . . NICOLE: If you dont, I will. DAVID: You will what? NICOLE: Tell her about us. DAVID: Go on, tell her . . . no one is stopping you, go on, hurry up, tell her. NICOLE: Go to hell. DAVID: Meet you there . . . and by the way, keep a clean sheet for me . . . NICOLE: I will. DAVID: Thank you, I wont forget you for that . . . NICOLE: Ill try to remain in your graces.
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Miguel Piero DAVID: Well, you should, I have a lot of pull down there. You know me, Chip Ricsaw, the devils brother-in-law . . . NICOLE: Now what about these proletarians youre throwing on me today? DAVID: Well, I met them at the bar across the street. They work in the same factory over on the west side of town . . . been in the city not too long. They come from, let me see where do they come from? . . . Im not really sure, but I guess we can ask them when they get here if youre really that interested . . . NICOLE: Im not really that interested in where they come from. DAVID: Just on whether they come. NICOLE: Funny. DAVID: Just couldnt resist it, you left yourself so wide open for that. NICOLE: Well, try to control yourself, okay? DAVID: Check . . . you got it, kid. NICOLE: Now go over their history one more time, but keep it straight. DAVID: Well, okay . . . the guy with the moustache, his name is Carlos or Carlo . . . didnt have time to check out whether it was his first name or his last . . . dont really matter anyway . . . hes like a foreman or something like that at this place where they work at. . . . The younger, his name is Robert Gel-something or other, he just kinda moved in last month. . . . Hes not married, and theyre really both as horny as a couple of mutts in heat. . . . The older guy Carlos or Carlo, he sort of takes the job of running the kids social life, kinda like a big brother, you know what I mean . . . hes into a very heavy gangster type of trip with the kid, ought to be easy bait for you . . . so we have to play the role of a heavy operation in the making when he gets here. NICOLE: You aint taking me alive, copper . . . come and get me . . . DAVID: Yeah, thats just the shit he believes in, you know what I mean? I met them at the bar, we shared a few drinks, a few half-hearted laughs, then I invited them over for a hand of poker with the elbow in the rib type of hint. I practically had to hit them over the head with what I really meant . . . anyway, the foreman Carlos agrees to come over. . . . He wanted to know if there would be any broads around . . . well, by the time I finished describing you, the kid Robert came in his pants. Hey, by the way, these friends of yours, they look all right, I mean they dont have . . .
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief NICOLE: The claps? DAVID: Shit, I dont give a damn if they have the claps or not, all Im interested in is if they look good, and by the way, they are not interested in any black women, they want some fat juicy white thighs crushing them to death. NICOLE: They call that projection. DAVID: I thought you said we would keep it straight. NICOLE: Just couldnt resist it, you left yourself wide open. DAVID: Okay, were even. NICOLE: You know what they say, payback is a bitch. DAVID: Okay, everybody knows that we must keep a united front. The role for tonight is big-time action. Rosemarie, youre Ma Barker, and Im Al Capone. NICOLE: How about me . . . Bonnie Parker? DAVID: No, Xaviera Hollander would be better. ROSEMARIE: Typecasted again, Nicole. NICOLE: Youre siding with him. DAVID: She is my old lady. NICOLE: And she is my sister. ROSEMARIE: Mostly Im me . . . Rosemarie Pauls. DAVID: What did you promise the girls? NICOLE: Fifty. DAVID: A piece? NICOLE: Yes, a piece. DAVID: Nicole, these guys are coming here to rent a piece of pussy, not to buy it . . . ROSEMARIE: Thats the door, Ill get it. NICOLE: Fifty is what I said, and fifty is what itll be or forget it. DAVID: Okay, no hassles, I just wonder what youre getting. NICOLE: None of your business . . . all you need to know is that I get twenty percent of what you make here tonight. Do you have any idea on what thatll be? ROSEMARIE: Your friends are here, Nicole. NICOLE: Oh, hello . . . David Dancer meet Rita and Laney . . . DAVID: Hi, girls . . . RITA: Hello, Mr. Dancer. DAVID: Naw, just call me David. ELAINE: Hello, David. DAVID: Sit down, make yourself comfortable.
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Miguel Piero ROSEMARIE: Can I get you girls something? RITA: No, thank you. I dont drink. ELAINE: Me neither. DAVID: You smoke . . . pot, that is? ELAINE: No, thanks, I dont smoke. RITA: Neither do I. DAVID: Shit . . . you wanna play Parchisi? ROSEMARIE: Spin the bottle? NICOLE: Theyre just goofing on you, pay them no mind, after a while you become immune to their insults and insanity. DAVID: Your dates should be here soon. ROSEMARIE: You take coke? RITA: No. ROSEMARIE: Speed? ELAINE: No. DAVID: Uppers? RITA: No. ROSEMARIE: Downers? ELAINE: No. DAVID: Do you take church on Sundays? RITA: Do we what? DAVID: You know, take the piece of bread on Sundays? ELAINE: Yes. DAVID: You do? RITA: Yes. ROSEMARIE: Do you live with your parents? ELAINE: What is this, a quiz show? RITA: Yeah, Nicole, I thought you said we was going to a hip place, get high, lay a couple of guys and split with a few bucks in our wallet. If I knew I had to give a case history on my life, I would have said . . . DAVID: No . . . no . . . hold up a second, dont get us wrong, baby. RITA: We aint getting you wrong, youre making yourself wrong. ELAINE: Yeah man, we dont need all this shit. DAVID: Sorry . . . its just that the other friends of Nicole . . . ELAINE: Were not the other friends of Nicole, we are these friends, right here not before nor after . . . RITA: Be here now . . . or dont be at all . . . ELAINE: Check it out, baby.
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief DAVID: You dont have to beat me with a wet mop to get the point, baby. ELAINE: We sure hope so. RITA: Yes, that could be very boring after the second whipping. DAVID: Oh, yeah, Nicole, what were we discussing before I say about five yards . . . NICOLE: Chump change . . . DAVID: Thats what some people call it, but Im not those in need. RITA: Can we choose or is this set up already? NICOLE: I dont know, ask David. ELAINE: Well . . . DAVID: Well what? RITA: Can we choose or this thing set up? DAVID: No, choose within yourselves. RITA: Is this a regular thing with yous? ROSEMARIE: What is this, were taking turns on interrogation? DAVID: No, just a side thing. ELAINE: What do you usually do? ROSEMARIE: Not much of anything, to be truthful. DAVID: We get over. RITA: Oh, I see, this is your office. ELAINE: Actually, they have a great estate in the country. NICOLE: No, but they do have a nice farm. ROSEMARIE: One hundred and five acres of good farming land. DAVID: Yep, in a few months, well be living on it permanently. ELAINE: Really . . . DAVID: Yep, always wanted to say yep like that, you know. Yep, always had a secret longing to be a farmer. NICOLE: Well, soon your dream will be true. DAVID: You aint lying. ELAINE: I think thats nice. DAVID: Yeah, we think so . . . yep, we sure think so, yep, we sure do. ELAINE: Youre really going to get it off, huh, all that yep shit? DAVID: Yep, as much as possible. Every chance that I get to say yep, Im going to say it . . . yep, I sure am, yep. RITA: Yep, you sure are, aint you? DAVID: Yep, I sure am. ELAINE: Thats nice, but its also boring. DAVID: Yep, it sure is, sometimes . . . yep, sure is boring.
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Miguel Piero ROSEMARIE: Yep. NICOLE: Yep. RITA: Yep. ELAINE: Yep. DAVID: Yep. ROSEMARIE: Yep. NICOLE: Yep. RITA: Yep, yep. ELAINE: Yep, yep, yep. DAVID: Yep, yep, yep, yep. ROSEMARIE: Yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep, yep. DAVID: Door, someones at the door. ROSEMARIE: Yep, thats what it sounds like, sounds like someones at the door. DAVID: Well . . . ROSEMARIE: Well what? DAVID: Well, aint you gonna answer the door? ROSEMARIE: No. DAVID: No? ROSEMARIE: No. DAVID: No. ELAINE: Seem thats what she said first. RITA: Yep, I heard her say it first, she said no first. NICOLE: So did I. DAVID: Are you going to let whoever is knocking wait out there? ROSEMARIE: Yep. DAVID: You are? ROSEMARIE: Yep. DAVID: Why? ROSEMARIE: Because you heard the knocking first, why didnt you get up and answer it? DAVID: Because I asked you. ROSEMARIE: No, you didnt ask me. DAVID: I didnt? ROSEMARIE: No, you didnt. DAVID: Then what did I do? ROSEMARIE: You ordered. DAVID: I ordered?
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief ROSEMARIE: Yes, you ordered. Am I right, girls? ELAINE: So it seems. RITA: I think thats what he did. NICOLE: Im sure thats what he did. ROSEMARIE: You see, thats what you did. DAVID: I did not. ROSEMARIE: Yes, you did. ELAINE: Yep. RITA: Yep. NICOLE: Yep. DAVID: Oh, lets not go over that routine again. ROSEMARIE: Yep, lets not go over it again. DAVID: Ill answer the door, will that satisfy you? ROSEMARIE: No, but it will satisfy whoever is knocking out there. NICOLE: I think it will. ELAINE: I know it would satisfy me if I was knocking on the door. RITA: Me too. DAVID: You girls get together, and a man aint got a chance. ROSEMARIE: Sure you do, you got the chance to answer the door, isnt that wonderful? DAVID: Oh, Im thrilled to the marrow. ROSEMARIE: You see, its already in your bones. NICOLE: Let it go a little longer, and itll get into your soul. DAVID: Thanks. NICOLE: Dont mention it, its nothin. DAVID: I agree with that . . . and neither are you. ROSEMARIE: Foul. ELAINE: Foul. RITA: Foul. NICOLE: Foul. DAVID: Yep, it is, isnt it? NICOLE: Thats your speed anyway. DAVID: Well, I needed something to protect myself. ROSEMARIE: A big handsome man like you. DAVID: Flattery will get you nowhere. Who is it? Who? Hey, hey, hey, what ya say. . . . Hey, honey, its Terry. Terry Logan from Brooklyn, come on in, man, come on in. I thought you was going to get here at a later hour.
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Miguel Piero TERRY: I was, but being stuck in that hotel gets on my nerves too hard, you know what I mean, man. DAVID: I sure do, I sure do. . . . Honey, you remember Terry Logan? ROSEMARIE: Sure I do, how have you been? TERRY: Struggling to stay above the water. ROSEMARIE: Aint we all? DAVID: This is Nicole, my old ladys little sister. ROSEMARIE: Her younger sister. DAVID: Excuse me, her younger sister. TERRY: How do you do, Davids old ladys younger sister? NICOLE: Trying to stay above the water. DAVID: This is her friends, Laney and Rita . . . TERRY: Hey, hows things, Laney and Rita? ELAINE: If things are okay with you, theyre okay with us. RITA: My sentiments exactly. TERRY: Well, what are you people doing today? DAVID: Nothing much, going to make a few dollars for the ladies. TERRY: For or from them? DAVID: A little bit of both, you know what I mean. TERRY: I sure do. ROSEMARIE: Would you like something to drink? TERRY: Sure, you have any herb? NICOLE: Yeah, but you have to roll your own. TERRY: No problem there, honey, been doing that since I was nine. NICOLE: Really, how interesting. TERRY: No, not really. NICOLE: I agree with that, too. TERRY: Did I enter at a wrong time? DAVID: No, man, were just sitting here getting on each others cases. TERRY: Thats nice, dont include me in that, okay? I cant stand the dozens. DAVID: No, were not playing them anymore. TERRY: Thanks. ROSEMARIE: Rum and Coke, good for the heart. TERRY: And the head. DAVID: Yep. ELAINE: So, youre from New York? TERRY: No, from Brooklyn. RITA: Isnt Brooklyn a part of New York?
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief TERRY: No, New York is part of Brooklyn. RITA: Really? ELAINE: No, stupid, thats just his way of thinking. TERRY: No, thats not my way of thinking, thats the way four million people who live in Brooklyn think. I just go along with their train of philosophy about the city. ELAINE: Do you go to other parts of New York, too? TERRY: Sometimes, when its necessary I do it. I go to Gunsmoke. ELAINE: Gunsmoke? DAVID: Thats a nickname for Brooklyn. RITA: Really, thats cute, Gunsmoke. Why do they call it Gunsmoke? TERRY: Because guns seem to smoke when they are triggered into firing. RITA: So what does it all mean? DAVID: It means that in Brooklyn theres a lot of guns being fired. TERRY: Its a hold over from the fifties. DAVID: More like the twenties, if you ask me. ROSEMARIE: I dont remember anyone asking. DAVID: Thats just in case. Anyway lets drop this playing for awhile. ROSEMARIE: Whos playing? DAVID: Im serious. ROSEMARIE: Okay, baby, anything you say. DAVID: Dont make me repeat myself, Rosemarie. ROSEMARIE: I wont. DAVID: Make sure that you dont. ELAINE: Here, let me light that joint up for you. TERRY: If you insist. DAVID: So the city is getting a little hot. TERRY: Like a bonfire, my man, things are not jumping off right in a lot of gigs, you know what I mean, like theres a rat in every corner nowadays, seem like the police are spending a fortune keeping these guys coming up with new potential jobs too hot this summer, so I decided to come out for awhile, see what I can see out here. DAVID: Tell you the truth, if you picked this city, youre making a mistake. Aint nothing here but cops on horses with big guns, itching to pull them triggers on the first businessman they come across, really a lot of rookies wearing pistols. Thats why I choose to cool it for awhile.
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Miguel Piero TERRY: Well, with the money you made off with in Brooklyn, I thought by now you be living on easy street. DAVID: Naw, that was just to pay up a lot of bills. I was operating in the red for awhile. Now I am even with about everybody I know who I owed money to. Pretty soon in a month or so, Ill be gone. TERRY: Gone? DAVID: Yep, gone for a long-ass time. TERRY: Jail. DAVID: No man, gone. Like away from the city, this city and every other city that Ive ever visited or lived in. I mean, Im getting out of this business and out of the city life. TERRY: What are you going to do, become a farmer? DAVID: Hey, how did you know? TERRY: No, man, really? What are you planning on doing? DAVID: Become a farmer. TERRY: No, seriously. DAVID: I am serious. ROSEMARIE: He is serious. We bought a farm in Maine, and were heading that way in about six months or so if things work out according to schedule. TERRY: Really? You really mean it . . . shit, youre really serious. DAVID: Yeah, man, Im really serious. NICOLE: Isnt that a dead case? TERRY: Thats really strange. Whatever made you wanna be a farmer? DAVID: You know, Ive never been inside. TERRY: Never? DAVID: Well, once as a kid, I was in a youth camp for delinquents. It was on a farm and I used to do all the chores around the place. I was the only kid from the city who liked to do farm work. . . . Well, the rest of the guys all thought that I was just bucking to get off the place for good behavior, but I would tell them that I was serious, that I liked getting up at the crack of dawn and being out there with all them animals and, well, they all thought that I was crazy or a rat and when the time came that I was going to leave the place, I asked to stay on, but they wouldnt let me so I left and got into the business. Stayed clear of prison, though, couldnt stand being locked up, really not the greatest experience in the world, you know . . . so anyway, I vowed that someday before I
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief died that I would die in a farm out there with nature, not here in the cold metal coffin that we call the city life. This shit is for suckers, not for me. TERRY: Well, I wouldnt go as far as to say that city life is for suckers. DAVID: Well, what have you got out there in the wonderful city? TERRY: There is something for those that want to get it. DAVID: Like what? TERRY: Well, like whatever you want to get. DAVID: You see, I agree with that . . . in the city you got a chance to get what you want, but is it what you need? I dont think so. TERRY: Well, if I go after something that I want, its because I also need whatever that thing is that I want. DAVID: The city is a river of pollution which pollutes people making it harder to live in it, people like myself and people like you and the rest of the crowd that we know. Man, that aint a way to enjoy the few years that we have on this planet, especially if you want to leave something behind that said that you lived. A farm, you leave a place where life is growing all the time, where life is never a stalemate. Here life is one coffin-like house to another. Man, thats not for me, no, sir, I cant allow my kid to grow up the way I did. I want something special for him, for myself as well, like right now I make a few dollars to survive with while the rest goes into the farm that we bought. Cause when I move in I want, I need that place to be mine totally, not just a rental space that I occupy. That what you got in the city, after a while theyll be renting out coffins . . . not me . . . I want to be buried in a place that I know is totally mine, thats why Im getting out once and for all. Itll be goodbye, cruel city, goodbye. TERRY: Well, to each his own, as the saying goes. DAVID: Well, look I have these two tricks coming up for the young ladies here. TERRY: Really, well that leaves me out of the ballpark. NICOLE: If youre playing in that park. TERRY: You mean, theres another position open? NICOLE: Ill say there is . . . TERRY: Well . . . well . . . thats nice to know. DAVID: Man, theyll melt down the key. TERRY: Oh, she doesnt look that dangerous to me.
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Miguel Piero DAVID: You know what they say about looks. TERRY: I sure do, and I like what I am looking at. NICOLE: Oh, youre just jealous. DAVID: The field is open, my man, have fun. TERRY: Thats up to the other player. NICOLE: Fun is the name of the game. TERRY: Why dont we go out somewhere? NICOLE: Id love to after the business is taken care of first. TERRY: Business before pleasure, I always say. NICOLE: Thats a good motto, a little old-fashioned, but still good. TERRY: It has its merits. SCENE TWO: A hallway to the entrance of DAVID DANCERs home. CARLOS: Is this the place? MILES: Yeah, this is the address and this is the floor and this is the number on the door, so I guess this is the place. CARLOS: Are you ready? MILES: I was born ready. CARLOS: You knock. MILES: Why . . . cant you knock? CARLOS: Well, you know how it is. MILES: No, I dont know how it is. CARLOS: Come on, man, dont be like that. MILES: Okay, just kidding with you . . . sure I know how it is . . . you know what this reminds me of? CARLOS: No. MILES: I never told you this, but I had a son who, if he had lived, wouldve been around your age now. How do you feel? CARLOS: A little drunk. MILES: So am I. CARLOS: Really. MILES: Sure. CARLOS: I thought you never got drunk. MILES: Sure, we all do, why not? CARLOS: I just thought that you never did. MILES: Oh, sure, I get drunk, its just that I know how to handle my liquor. CARLOS: Yeah, I can tell. MILES: Well, you know some men dont know how to.
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief CARLOS: Oh, I know that. MILES: Handling your liquor is one of the great secrets of life. CARLOS: It is. MILES: It sure is. CARLOS: How am I doing? MILES: Not bad, you can do better if you put your mind to it. CARLOS: Really. MILES: Sure, its all up here, all up here, thats where the answer lies. CARLOS: You sure know a lot. MILES: Naw, I know about as much as any man who has had the same experience as me. CARLOS: Thats not many. MILES: Oh, dont say that. Theres a lot of men out there in this world who have walked similar paths, not many thats true, but enough so that life doesnt become boring with the same routine year after year, like it was out on the farm. CARLOS: Oh, you lived on a farm . . . sure did a lot for you, huh? MILES: Well, I guess it had its ups as well as its downers. CARLOS: And you left? MILES: Yeah, came out to the city to make my fortune and fame. CARLOS: You did? MILES: Yep . . . but I never met either one, fortune or fame, just plain obscurity. CARLOS: Thats not true, I think youre great. MILES: Youre just one man. CARLOS: Do you need more than one? MILES: No, no, I dont need more than one. CARLOS: Should I knock? MILES: Naw, sit down first. CARLOS: You wanna drink? MILES: Sure, why not? You know, you remind me of my son so much. He was as strong and as smart as you. He had curly hair too. He enlisted in the Marines at the age of seventeen. By the time he was twenty he was dead in some rice paddy, stepped on a booby trap. He was going to be a somebody once he was out. He was a lot like me, he wanted adventure, something I never really went after. No, after a while, I just settled myself to live one day at a time, trying to make happy days to remember in my old age. . . . My daughter, you got to meet my youngest girl, just like her
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Miguel Piero mother she looks like, only she nothing like her in spirit or in thought, shes truly independent of anyone, just like you, just like my son, just like I always wanted to be like but never could quite capture that attitude. But you cant say I didnt try, no, you cant say I didnt try. I did everything that I ever heard of or thought of or had the courage to do and those things that I feared to do, those were the things that I did first, everything that I was afraid of doing, got to make a stab at it, thats what I felt. I had to do, make a stab at all those things that you are afraid of doing than the thing that you wanna do. Do those things last cause the things that you wanna do will always be there to be done. CARLOS: When I go out to places with you, I somehow feel so much like a child who is near a mighty oak tree of learning. MILES: Strange, I get the same kind of feeling with you. I feel much older, not older in age but older in all the knowledge that Ive acquired during my years on this good earth of ours. CARLOS: Yeah, thats strange, seems like we were meant to have been hanging out together. MILES: Hanging out together? CARLOS: Yeah, you know, like going out with the boys, kind of thing. MILES: With my son I wish I had had the time to have done that with him. CARLOS: Make believe that youre doing it. MILES: I am . . . I am, I see in you everything that I wanted to be, everything that I needed to be and everything that I would never be. CARLOS: Oh, dont talk like that. MILES: Why not, its truth and the truth is an element that we should never discount, never trade in or collect green stamps on. Its free cause the use of it makes you free, or something like that. CARLOS: I dont know, I once said the truth and I wound up in trouble. If I had lied like the rest of my pals, I would have gotten away free without my behind tanned to a deep purple. MILES: But you would have punished yourself in some other manner. CARLOS: Oh, the old guilt trip. MILES: Guilt is not a trip, its a solid ground that many walk on. CARLOS: Thats true. Here, have another drink. MILES: Dont mind if I do.
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief CARLOS: Good solid ninety-proof scotch helps ease all the trips. MILES: Until the morning light shines through your shut eyelids and wakes you up to a giant hangover. CARLOS: Hey, is it true that the best cure for a hangover is to have a stiff drink as soon as you get up in the morning? MILES: Before you brush your teeth. CARLOS: Before brushing? MILES: Before brushing. CARLOS: Why is that? MILES: Why is what? CARLOS: Why is it that a good stiff drink wakes up your body after a hangover? MILES: Because nothing else will. CARLOS: I guess that makes sense somewhere to someone someplace. MILES: That doesnt make no sense to me at all. CARLOS: I know . . . should I knock? MILES: Knock. CARLOS: No answer. MILES: Maybe if you knock harder. CARLOS: Hows that? MILES: Knock hard doesnt mean to kick down the door. DAVID: Hey . . . hey, come on in, come on in, Im sorry we took so long to open the door. Here, let me take your coats. Rosemarie, get the two gentlemen a drink, sit down make yourself comfortable. This is a good friend of mine from New York City. Hes here taking a vacation here in the great bicentennial city. . . . Terry, this here is . . . CARLOS: Carlos . . . MILES: Miles is the name. TERRY: Good to meet both of you. So you finished making the joint, Rosemarie? ROSEMARIE: Yeah, here you are. . . . Would any of you like a stick of marihuana? NICOLE: Hi, the girls are just getting the make-up together. Theyll be out in a second. You like the music thats playing or would you like me to put something else on for you? CARLOS: No, thats fine, I like the sound. Nice set you got there. DAVID: Yeah, got it in the street for a price you wouldnt believe.
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Miguel Piero MILES: I can bet. NICOLE: Here they are . . . Rita, this is Carlos. MILES: Rita Barkley . . . RITA: Mister. ELAINE: Hi, everybody. MILES: Elaine . . . ELAINE: Dad . . . Lights

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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief ACT II SCENE ONE: A telephone booth. TERRY: Yeah, yeah, Im sure its the right dude . . . of course, man, I helped him out when he visited the city last year . . . sure, man, dont worry about it . . . hes out for the count . . . just make sure that I get my bread when I get back to the city. . . . No, its not that I dont trust you . . . its that I get scared of people who owe me money and always seem to find a reason to skip out on the payment, can you dig what Im saying? . . . Sure . . . everything is going to be all right . . . no, nothing is wrong . . . this dude had this thing planned for tonight with some hicks. . . . He had a couple of chicks for them . . . and guess what one of the chicks turns out to be, the daughter of one of the tricks. . . . Yeah, young girls, real young . . . jail bait, but they got it. . . . Yeah, I left as soon as I found out what was happening, told them that Id be back later on tonight after everything settles down with what happened. I wasnt about to get caught in a shit trap like that, too much static. . . . Naw, I dont think the girls father will call the cops, you know kinda embarrassing for him and her, if you dig what I mean. . . . Yeah, I can see whats happening from here. . . . Man, the old man is sure doing a lot of yelling about his kid. . . . Naw, Ill go back up after everything is over with . . . too much static jumping off now, lights are going on everywhere in the building. . . . How do you know I pulled the job? . . . Youll know cause Ill be around to pick up the money, thats how. . . . I dont collect for something I didnt pull . . . no . . . no . . . I aint about to keep you posted about everything thats going on . . . it cost too much money . . . reverse the charges? You kidding . . . no, I dont think youre going to get anything back from him. I think he threw away the bag and kept the money . . . something about him and his woman buying a farm. Yeah, they wanna be farmers, aint that something for the book? . . . Farmers. . . . No, I dont think he kept those papers . . . maybe, but I dont think so. Why, because hes too stupid to have done that. . . . No, he aint that smart . . . blackmail . . . are you kidding me? . . . Look, Ill be asked tonight or tomorrow morning, I got to hang up now . . . why . . . cause I aint putting no more money into this conversation, thats why . . . okay, good . . . okay . . . sure, will do, if
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Miguel Piero he got them Ill get them . . . but I dont think he does, he must have thrown them away. Im telling you, believe me. . . . Okay yeah, Ill leave a mark by his body so that his people will know that he and no one else can come to the Big Apple and rip off people who are in business . . . bye. . . . Bye . . . I said goodbye already . . . hang up . . . what? . . . Right. Bye. Tomorrow or tonight be on the alert. . . . Okay, will do . . . dont worry, goddamn it . . . bye. . . . Shit, youre one hell of a worrier, this is my last contract for you . . . no more, baby, no more hits . . . you worry too much and thats makes me leary . . . the last one and Im serious. . . . Ill take care of David Dancer for you, but hes the last one Ill do for you, no more after this, get yourself another boy . . . shit, call Detroit. . . . bye . . . Lights SCENE TWO: The hallway in front of DAVIDs apartment. ROSEMARIE: Come get out of here already . . . will ya, get going, girl . . . that man is angry. He finds out that you brought his little darling up here, hes going to cause trouble for you and you dont need trouble at this stage of your life, baby. NICOLE: His little darling is one of the biggest put-out artists in the whole school, next to Rita, of course. . . . Hes not going to do anything to me or to anyone else either. ROSEMARIE: I know that, baby. Hes not going to do anything to you cause I aint giving him the chance to do it, now get out of here, will ya, please leave this place, baby. NICOLE: Stop pushing on me and stop calling me, baby. ROSEMARIE: Whats wrong with you, Nicole? NICOLE: Theres nothing wrong with me. Whats wrong is you pushing on me, telling me to run out on my man. ROSEMARIE: What did you say? NICOLE: You heard what I said . . . I aint going nowhere. Maybe you should be running out of here but not me, I aint going nowhere and thats that. ROSEMARIE: Your man? NICOLE: My man. ROSEMARIE: Are you talking about David? NICOLE: Does a bear shit in the woods?
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief ROSEMARIE: Are you for real? NICOLE: Goddamn right Im for real. ROSEMARIE: What . . . you call David your man? . . . NICOLE: Thats right, my man . . . and I aint running out on him either. You run if you had any feeling for that man . . . you be in there by his side not out here copping a plea. . . . Hes my man, and I aint running and leave him behind to face whatever may happen to him with that fool drunk in there. Now get out of my way and let me get back inside and stand next to my man where his woman is supposed to be. ROSEMARIE: Well settle this matter later. NICOLE: There is nothing to settle. ROSEMARIE: Later . . . well settle this matter later, I said. NICOLE: And I said that theres nothing to settle. ROSEMARIE: And I said there is . . . and well talk about it later. Now get on out of here before I forget that youre my sister and break your little neck in three places. NICOLE: Go on and try it, just go on and try it. You think Im still a little baby. Take a good look at me before you raise your hands to me cause you better forget that Im your sister if you so much as lay a hand on me cause Im sure going to forget it and do my best to kick your ass, bitch. . . . Now get the hell out of my way and let me back inside where I belong. You run, not me, you run, go ahead, run, leave him behind cause thats what he was about to do anyway with you. He was going to split on you, thats right, he had all but packed his bags on you, baby, but you didnt know that, big sister, little sister took your man, thats right, little baby innocent snotty-nose sister took your man from you and theres not a single thing you can do about it either, and you can cry and whine all you want but theres not a thing you can do about it cause hes my man and Im not about to let him get into any kind of trouble without me by his side to care for him when he needs me, so get the hell out of my way this minute, hear me, get out of my way, hes mine, you blew it with him, cant you see that youre through, can you see it, are you blind to whats been going on in that house right under your nose, cant you see it? Baby, you blew the game, now its my turn to play. ROSEMARIE: So thats it, huh, thats the way you repay what Ive gone through for you?
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Miguel Piero NICOLE: Man, stop that shit this minute cause you aint done nothing for me, you did it for yourself so that you can pat yourself on the back. ROSEMARIE: Do you believe all that shit you just said? NICOLE: I dont only believe it, I can prove it, thats a fact, baby. You always playing the big mother . . . Get out of the way. ROSEMARIE: You really think that hes yours, dont you? NICOLE: I know that hes mine. ROSEMARIE: What makes you so sure, little girl? NICOLE: Cause I aint no little girl, thats what makes me so sure. ROSEMARIE: Ive been with that fool years. . . who do you think does the planning . . . who do you think does all the brainwork for the jobs that hes pulled, for the hustles that hes made, him? You really think that he does it all by himself? I do it, baby, I do it. I wait for him to come out of jail . . . I wait for him to come out of wherever he is at, doing his thing, cause all he knows how to do is to hold a gun and point it, and that I had to teach him how to do right. . . . When hes out of bread, are you going to hit the streets to make him a dollar so that he can gamble it on a long shot . . . or spend it on some dope-head friend? . . . What do you have that makes you think that he will stick by you? Hes ready to run out on me, what makes you think that he wont do the same thing to you when he sees a piece of young flesh that turns him on? . . . You are nothing but a turn on, baby, thats all, a turn on . . . a man . . . hustlers . . . have themselves a girlfriend and they have themselves a woman. . . . Im his woman . . . youre a turn on . . . a onenight stand . . . what have you got? . . . Cause he aint going to have much of anything once I walk out that door on him, baby. Watch him come a running . . . NICOLE: You wanna know what I have . . . I aint got it yet, but I will . . . I will . . . Im going to have him . . . cause Im gonna have his baby . . . his child. ROSEMARIE: What did you say? NICOLE: You heard me, you aint got wax in your ears, right? You heard me. Im carrying his yet-to-be born child right here, baby. You wanna feel it squirm. ROSEMARIE: You little low-life bitch . . . (Slaps her.) NICOLE: Go on, hit me, beat me, go on, get it off your heart, baby, cause youre a loser, thats the only thing youre gonna leave with
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief tonight, the satisfaction of having physically beaten me. Cause you lose him and you lost me and youre losing yourself. ROSEMARIE: Ill kill him and you together. (Strangling her.) NICOLE: Rosemarie, youre killing me, stop it . . . stop it . . . ROSEMARIE: No, youre not to blame . . . youre just a little child, a little girl, a little baby still . . . my little baby sister . . . I didnt mean to hurt you, baby, I really didnt mean to hurt you one bit. Youre not to blame, he is . . . hes a grown man who took advantage of a child infatuation, youre not to blame, he is . . . and hes going to pay . . . NICOLE: You still believe that, dont you, that Im a little baby, a little girl, even after I took away your man . . . but then he was never yours. ROSEMARIE: No, he never was, and hell never be yours either. NICOLE: Thats what you think, Ill fight for him. ROSEMARIE: You dont have to. NICOLE: I dont have to? ROSEMARIE: Cause hes nothing to fight about. NICOLE: Hes mine, hes my man, you blew it and youre looking for an excuse to justify your loss, but there aint none. You just couldnt handle a relationship with him like I know that I could, so dont get any wild funny ideas about him or me. ROSEMARIE: Theres nothing more to be said, is there? NICOLE: Nothing. ROSEMARIE: Ill leave . . . but let me tell you something, you or him will never make it as a team or as anything cause none of you have the brains to survive in this jungle of a city. NICOLE: Run that on a newsreporter or a welfare worker, not on me. Dont forget we come from the same background. ROSEMARIE: No, we dont. You never knew what it meant to be hungry or to struggle for a piece of bread. I wouldnt ever let you know that kind of life, never . . . never, but I do. NICOLE: Well, I guess that Im just going to have to learn. ROSEMARIE: The pretty clothes . . . NICOLE: I can do without them. ROSEMARIE: Sure, you could, but can he do without his pretty clothes? Youre going to get them for him, are you? NICOLE: If I have to, I will. ROSEMARIE: Here.
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Miguel Piero NICOLE: Whats that . . . ROSEMARIE: A bank book that Ive been keeping for you. NICOLE: Put it back in your purse, I dont need it. ROSEMARIE: Thats what you think. Maybe you wont need the money, but he will. Youre both going to need it, to buy a plot of land. And I know that he always wanted a fancy funeral, so make sure you get the best cause all Im doing is keeping a promise to him that he would get a fancy funeral. Now its your responsibility. NICOLE: Youre not scaring me, Im not a child, stop acting like if I was one. ROSEMARIE: Scared about what? NICOLE: I know what your implying with this fancy funeral bullshit bit, and Im not going for it. If you plan to kill us, go ahead and try. ROSEMARIE: I did, but I couldnt do it. NICOLE: Goodbye, big sister, get you bags and split. ROSEMARIE: I dont want them, you keep it, keep everything. NICOLE: Thank you. Dont think that I wont. ROSEMARIE: You was welcome to my clothes, my money, my home. NICOLE: And your man. ROSEMARIE: And my man. NICOLE: Goodbye . . . ROSEMARIE: I dont hate you, but I pity you. NICOLE: You know what you can do with your pity. . . . You may not hate me but you can be sure of this, that I cant stand the sight of you and your motherly act . . . you and your pampering act . . . you and your self-righteousness, sacrificing soul attitude that I had to endure each and every minute of my life with you. Now its your turn to shed tears on an empty bed. Beat it cause I hate you now and always, I always hated you, you bitch. . . . Beat it, you heard me, I hate you, put an egg in your shoe and beat it . . . go on . . . ROSEMARIE: I pity you cause you had to sneak your happiness while I worked for mine . . . and youll never know what it means to be happy, to feel secure in that feeling because yours is a stolen love. NICOLE: Stop singing the blues around me. Either get your clothes or let the door hit you where the lord split you . . .
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief ROSEMARIE: Yes, Ill do that . . . a woman . . . (SHE laughs.) NICOLE: Stop laughing at me, stop it, I tell you, stop it, you hear me? Stop laughing at me, I hate you, you dirty stinky whore, stop laughing at . . . ROSEMARIE: Im not laughing at you, sometimes laughter is a substitute for tears . . . . NICOLE: I told you to go sing them blues somewhere else. ROSEMARIE: Hes a sinking ship and you aint got no life raft aboard, baby. NICOLE: I can swim, and each night Im going to be swimming in his arms, while you can sing the blues . . . go get yourself drunk. ROSEMARIE: You know, thats the only sensible thing youve said today, and I think I will. Bye, baby, have fun. NICOLE: Oh, yes, honey, I will, the same kind that blew . . . ROSEMARIE: Oh, by the way, I changed my mind . . . Ill take back my bank book. NICOLE: Here, shove it. ROSEMARIE: And tell his majesty, your man . . . that Ill send for my things in the morning . . . if he sees a morning . . . NICOLE: Theyll be ready for you . . . out in the street where they and you belong. ROSEMARIE: You really hate me . . . pity, cause l loved you with all my heart. NICOLE: Peddle that somewhere else. ROSEMARIE: Good night . . . little sister. NICOLE: Go fuck yourself, bitch . . . thats what youre going to have to do from now on . . . do it to yourself cause you aint got no man. . . . I took your man . . . I took your man. . . . I hate you, bitch . . . I hate you, I hope you die before morning . . . I hope you drop dead . . . Lights. SCENE THREE: DAVID DANCERs apartment. MILES: You scum, you rat, you take young girls like this and make them defile themselves. You lousy, no-good scum, Im gonna kill you. (HE lunges at DAVID.) ELAINE: Dad, dont.
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Miguel Piero RITA: Im getting out of here. . . . See you later. Keep my name out of this shit, you hear me, Laney? ELAINE: Go on, get out of here with the rest of them. DAVID: Mister, dig yourself. Youre drunk, and I can take you out easy. Now be cool before I cool you out, man. Hey, you, take care of this guy. Man get him off me before I hurt him. ELAINE: Hey, come on, man, take him off before he hurts him. Hes your friend so protect him, will you? MILES: I kill you yet, mister. DAVID: Man, you had your play, now be cool. (Punches MILES down.) CARLOS: Hey, you neednt hit him that hard. DAVID: Well, I did, now what about it? . . . Well, sucker, you let me almost break this poor jerks jaw. CARLOS: Look, mister, I dont want any trouble. I just came up here to have a good time. If you have something personal with him, thats your problem as well as his, not mine. So if you will get out of my way, I will open that door and leave the way I came in. DAVID: He brought you here. CARLOS: I know how to get back. DAVID: And you know how to forget things too? CARLOS: Easy . . . easy as pie . . . I forget everything like that . . . DAVID: Make sure that you do. ELAINE: What about him? MILES: Carlos, you are deserting me, you are my friend, you are deserting me . . . ELAINE: Some friend . . . DAVID: Well, what are you gonna do, hoof it or try to play hero. If you do, let me assure you that you are younger and not as drunk as he. My only choice will be to hurt you, and I hurt real bad, you know what I mean? CARLOS: Im leaving. MILES: Coward, if you show up at the plant tomorrow, Ill make sure that youre fired . . . you punk . . . beat it. CARLOS: Look, mister, I dont mind going off with you somewhere to have a drink and gamble and have as much fun as I could with you, because you are a really nice old man and your lies are very interesting. Hey, man, Im a realist, I dont need the job that bad and I can live without your friendship. If your friendship hinders
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief my breathing career, can you dig it, like I play the young innocent type dude only because it makes you feel good. But I aint no fool, Miles, so you handle your own personal family business and Ill handle mine. I will never ask you to break your neck for me. I never ask anyone to do that, and I never expect anyone to volunteer . . . so adis, see you around some time. Mr. Dancer, if you would kindly let me out of your home, I will give you my word that I will not call the police because I dont wish to be involved in anything that is happening here. Ill tell the ladies outside that they can come in. DAVID: Just hustle your ass out of here, thats all. Dont say nothing to anybody and that includes my ladies out there. I got things under control, so beat it while you still have a clear path to the north. CARLOS: Goodbye, Laney. . . . Pity, hes not a bad dude, your dad. Maybe hes a jerk with you, but not with his friends. You know, I met a lot of people like that, they are lousy family members and yet they are such wonderful friends to have, always a dollar and a favor in the hand, waiting to be plucked. Hes like that, you know. He drinks a lot and he thinks he knows a lot, but hes just learning. ELAINE: Bye . . . CARLOS: Yes, I was about to leave . . . goodbye . . . RITA: Hey, you still wanna have that good time you were looking for? CARLOS: Sure, do you know anyone thats willing to help me find the light? RITA: Heres a match. Come on, lets dust out of here before they start going at each other again. This aint what I bargained for, you know? CARLOS: I can imagine. RITA: Elaine, remember, keep my name out of this. ELAINE: Dont sweat it, baby, see you around sometime. RITA: Call me tomorrow if you plan anything special, all right? ELAINE: Will do, take care and have fun. RITA: Dont I always? Like I always say make the best out of the worst. You still got some cash, brother? CARLOS: Yeah, lets go. (They exit. NICOLE enters.) ELAINE: You got a match? DAVID: On the table.
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Miguel Piero ELAINE: Well . . . looks like the night is off, huh? DAVID: Yeah, it looks that way. NICOLE: Well, what are we going to do, stand here and stare at each other until the sun comes up? ELAINE: No, Im gonna sit down and stare for a while, you know kinda get the muscles of the brain working properly. DAVID: Look, mister, I know that she, your daughter, I mean, I know that now, not that it would have made a bit of a difference if I had known it before she came up here, but thats the way things go. I mean thats life . . . man, well a part of it, the part that we are now caught up in so we have to make some kind of real-life decision on this incident. Like I dont much feel that we need to call the police into this matter, I mean, that would bring on some nasty publicity from the nasty papers. You know those sensationalist rags at the newsstands. MILES: You scum. DAVID: I wish you stop calling me that. In fact, let me tell you, and take it as a warning not a threat, if you call me that one more time, Im gonna kick your teeth in. ELAINE: He means it, Dad. NICOLE: Well, tell this jerk to get the hell out of here. DAVID: Shut up, Im running things here now. . . . Wheres Rosemarie? NICOLE: She left. DAVID: Left, what ya mean she left? NICOLE: She left, thats it. Gone for good and good riddance too. Now we have each other. DAVID: Left for good, what ya mean she left for good? Did you have something to do with that? NICOLE: I told her everything, and I told her that you loved me and we were going to leave together, just you and me against this world, making it. DAVID: You told her everything? . . . NICOLE: Yes, and I told her that I was having your baby, too. DAVID: My baby . . . you told her about having my baby, you stupid bitch, are you crazy? NICOLE: No, Im not crazy, maybe crazy for you, honey, but . . . DAVID: Quit that dumb-ass rap, will ya? . . . You told her about us? What makes you think that I would make it with you all the way,
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief are you crazy? You are crazy, bitch. Well settle this later. First, let me make sure things are going to be cool with the indignant father here. ELAINE: Hey, Dad, hes talking about you, answer. MILES: Elaine, whats gotten into you? ELAINE: Nothing that wasnt there already. . . . Lets get this over with. Look, David, I aint pitching no bitch, and he aint going to either cause he has a soft-ass job at the factory and he needs the money for his daily bottle, and moms pills are pretty low. She needs money for new prescriptions, so just make your mind at ease and let the old man out of here. NICOLE: David, what do you mean? DAVID: Shut up, I told you once . . . you . . . I need a woman, not a little girl . . . ELAINE: Come on, Dad, get up, sober up a little, just enough to make the streets below . . . MILES: Where did I fail? ELAINE: On the day the doctor announced a little girl. . . . Get up . . . MILES: What will your mother say? ELAINE: Nothing. Shell take a couple of pills to hear you and then a couple more to shut you out. . . . Thats what you both been doing all the time, shutting me out of your life, you with your bottle and she with her pills. Well, now its out in the open at least, between you and me. She doesnt need to know anything and you just need to get some rest and to make yourself ready to make the liquor store in the morning, your cubbyhole is dry. MILES: Im getting up. DAVID: Okay, mister, Im sorry it had to be your daughter as much as you say youre sorry, but thats about it, just plain old verbal sorry, theres nothing to be done about it unless you make a big deal out of it, if you dont beat it. NICOLE: Come on, get out of here already, will ya? ELAINE: Dont rush him, hes gettin out . . . DAVID: If you keep your head as you been doing, life will be much easier to face from your home than it is from a hospital ward. Okay, good, thats using the old noggin. Have a drink before you leave, go ahead, its on the house. . . . Okay, now you can beat it.
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Miguel Piero MILES: Hold it a second, mister, I want to know how you got my little girl up here? It was by force, right, you kidnapped her, didnt you say that you did that, admit it. ELAINE: Oh, stop all that bull, Dad, you know as well as I that you dont believe a word of that nonsense, so be for real. DAVID: Look here, mister, whatever your name is, you know that you came up here to get laid by some broad and by a young chickie as you asked for. I had no way of knowing who would be brought here. I only rent out the apartment. MILES: Then who is the one that recruits them? NICOLE: I do . . . MILES: You? NICOLE: Yes, me . . . what about it? ELAINE: Be cool, Nicole. NICOLE: No, you be cool . . . your old man comes here, finds you making a dollar in a way that he doesnt approve and he pitches a bitch on my man. Well if you aint gonna set him straight, then I will. MILES: Elaine. ELAINE: Hes my father, Nicole, now let me handle things here. Look, Dad, I guess its time that we stop all this crap going on between you and me. . . . First of all, you dont love or like me in the least and I can safely say that I feel the same way about you. I dont dig you at all. Maybe Im being a little too strong on you, but thats the case. Look, I was planning on leaving you and Mom anyway to make it on my own. I dont need you anymore, and you never needed me, so I guess this takes a responsibility off your shoulders. There has never been anything for me to hold on to in that house, and I know that there never will be . . . and I dont expect . . . if after a while I stopped dreaming about it cause you know I always had dreams that someday you and Mom would take a few minutes off from your daily battle to offer me a sign of peace and a favor of love. I had that wonderful dream so many times that it became a re-run, stale photographs of yesterdays family album, showcasing scene in the parlor. . . . Life for me has begun on my terms and I am not going to give in an inch, not like you and her, you gave up yards until they became miles of living family nightmares. Thats not for me. I lived with it sixteen years and I guess that there is nothing more brutal than that. Perhaps
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief you will disown me. I really dont care, I enjoy being on my own. Ive been saving every dime that I hustle to make my exit from that dreary existence that you call living. So drop it already, stop playing the concerned father role. It dont fit you well and its almost making me want to throw up all over the place, so cut it loose, will ya? . . . You had your drink, now lets go before it gets too hot up here to make it out the door . . . . DAVID: Look, mister, you came looking for a piece of pussy and you found your daughter selling hers. Maybe you should . . . you know . . . keep it in the family kinda thing. NICOLE: Stop it, David, thats not funny. DAVID: Im not trying to be funny, and I told you to keep your trap shut, right? (Slaps her.) NICOLE: Im sorry, baby, Ill keep quiet. DAVID: That goes to show you that Humphrey Bogart was right. I never met a woman who didnt understand a good slap in the mouth. ELAINE: Come on, Dad, this scene aint your scene. DAVID: Elaine, this scene aint a lot of peoples scene, but its a scene thats for real, that goes on every day in one of the cubbyholes that fill the streets of this city. And we, you as well as your father and hundreds like him, close your ears to the struggle to survive and everything that a ghetto dweller finds that makes him a dollar without giving it to the government, like the politician never does, but it is a part of a hustle, baby. If youre planning on leaving the womb, then make sure that your stomach can stand the food that you must serve yourself in order to live. ELAINE: I can handle it. DAVID: See you around surviving. ELAINE: I hope so. MILES: Im a loser . . . a loser . . . oh, God. ELAINE: Come on, Dad, dont cry . . . not everyone is a winner. DAVID: Hey, mister, you know some people say that theres nothing wrong with being on the losing team, and you know thats a whole lot of bullshit. . . . In my world, first is first and second is nobody and third is obsolete . . . get out of here, you loser. ELAINE: Throw me my cigarettes . . . thanks, loser . . . (MILES and ELAINE exit.)
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Miguel Piero DAVID: Im a winner . . . I was born to win. . . . Look at this mess . . . come on, get your ass up and get out of here. NICOLE: Get out? DAVID: Yeah, you heard me, get the hell out. NICOLE: But what about us? DAVID: Us? NICOLE: Yes, us, goddamn it, us, me and you. DAVID: There is no us, theres only a you and theres only a me, and thats the way I want to keep it. NICOLE: But . . . DAVID: No buts, just get out. NICOLE: I need you. DAVID: I dont need you. NICOLE: I dont have Rosemarie anymore. DAVID: Thanks to you, I dont have her either . . . shell probably send for her things in the morning, and shes the type of woman that once she makes her mind to leave, shes leaving. Goddamn it, that was the best woman I ever had, and I blew it. Why didnt you just let things ride? . . . Everything was going along so nicely, but you had to be greedy, shit. NICOLE: Baby, I only wanted to be with you. DAVID: Well, you were with me, wasnt you . . . didnt we spend time together? What more did you want, a fucking marriage? I bet thats it . . . man, what a fool I was . . . NICOLE: You got me, baby, you got me. . . . Ill hustle the streets for you . . . Ill make money for both of us. DAVID: Youre just a little fucking squirt . . . you aint got the class nor the stamina to keep it up in this hustle, like your sister. Shes a woman, I need me a woman, not a sixteen-year-old school twenty-five-cent piece of pussy. . . . I need a woman, now beat it. I need you like I need a policeman knocking on my door. Come on, get out . . . I got to get some rest and go out to find me a woman. . . . Twenty dollars, thats all the money you got, huh? . . . Heres your bag, get out cause you aint my bag. . . . (HE grabs her by the arm and physically throws her out of the apartment. SHE is cursing and pleading with him. HE begins to clean up his place. Doorbell.) Yeah, who is it? Who . . . oh, yeah, man, come on in, come on in. . . . Hey, man, excuse the place, but I had quite a busy night, as you well know . . . real hassle with all that
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Eulogy for a Small Time Thief went on here . . . a real hassle youd never believe the shit that jumped off in here tonight, man. . . . You tipped off in a hurry, man, in a flash like lightening hurry . . . I guess I can nickname you Superman and Id be close, right? TERRY: No, I have no nicknames . . . I really dont need any visitors bearing bad breath on your door while Im here visiting you, can you dig it, man? DAVID: Sure . . . sure, I was just joking . . . you know, busting your balls. . . . Man, everything went wrong tonight . . . nothing stood on the road tonight . . . my life might be well described as a slippery highway. . . . There I am, an invited trick and a whore staring at each other and they turn out to be family . . . wow, what a trip, man, what a trip. . . . God Im lucky that the dude was a cold loser hooked on the juice and not one of the gamblers of the streets, elsewise Id be in a world of trouble. . . . I might as well write the day off to experience, that always works. . . . The little chick you met with the big ass, Rosemaries little sister, she goes off and tells Rosemarie, my woman, that shes been laying in bed with me. . . . Rosemarie walks out on me after that and shes the type of broad that does not make a comeback after she out of the stage. Nope, she aint never coming into my bed again, not on this side of hell. . . . You know, man, she was one helluva woman, man, couldnt do better with a dog . . . so what ya gonna do, man? You could crash here until you dont need the place anymore. Me, I got to get me a nice hot bath and a . . . a . . . a . . . hell, I dont know what else I need to make me feel better, but a hot hot bath will do for openers . . . (Goes into the bathroom.) Man, let me tell you, I must have woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning cause nothing really has gone right at all . . . nothing at all, thats a bitch . . . everybody gone . . . all the smoke smoked up, the liquor gone . . . nothing left but some warm beer. Thats what I got to leave behind in my will, my great estate, a pack of warm beer . . . and a half of pack of stale cigarettes. . . . Had to throw that little bitch out, a girl like that is a one-way ticket to prison or to an early grave. . . . Yep, shes the type thatll cause a man a lot of unnecessary pain and discomfort . . . thats why I dont deal with young meat for any length of time, cant handle it and it aint worth the risk. . . . You wanna take a bath while I finish, youre welcome . . . can you hear me? Today has been a day that I wont
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Miguel Piero want somebody to recite over my coffin during the text of my eulogy . . . Hell no, you know what, Terry . . . I guess today just aint my day . . . (During the course of DAVIDs speech TERRY has prepared his gun with a silencer and walks into the bathroom.) TERRY: I guess not . . . Curtain.

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Afterword
BY JOSEPH PAPP

first met Miguel Piero in 1972, shortly after his release from Sing Sing penitentiary, where for the past year he had found the courage to write and develop a play called Short Eyes about the very place in which he was living. The following year I produced that play, which proved to be one of the most powerful dramas ever seen at New Yorks Public Theater, and later moved it to Lincoln Center for a highly successful run. If the unnerving honesty of Short Eyes, as well as the raw corrosive force of its language, sometimes appeared to be too much for middle-class audiences, the work nevertheless won the New York Drama Critics Award for best play of the season. With this first and best known of his many plays, Miguel has probably had more impact on younger writers than any Latin playwright of his generation. From Francois Villon to Jean Genet, Miguel belongs to a tradition of writers whose devious and renegade lives paradoxically result in the most painstaking devotion to the truth and rigor of their craft. All dramatists of real value must sooner or later confront what for them is truly dangerous, either within themselves or in the outside world. That we the audience feel that danger and understand something of what it is about is often what makes a play important and durable. If the life of Miguel seems illusive and troubling, one can only applaud what is so candidly engaged here by his art, where very little is stolen or borrowed and a great deal is revealed. In this sense Miguel Piero is as blessed and as straight a writer as they come.

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