Thirty-Seven on The Train

Pimp My Lent/Day 24

The Prompt:

From pimptress Ellen Vincent Zimmerman, a photo by her husband Steve.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/space2k/5349294064/

The Product:

A monologue

Setting: a subway/metro car.

The SECRETARY enters. She wears a nice suit/skirt with tennis shoes, and carries a purse, lunch bag, shoe bag. She stops. There’s a man directly in front of her. She glances down, then up at his face, and says to him…

Thirty-seven.

For the year. Thirty-seven.

White, black, brown, tan, freckled, speckled, diseased, pierced, tattooed, filthy, deformed, big, medium, small, limp, hard, half-mast, shriveled, curved, angled, bent like a faucet –

(bends forefinger into a “faucet”)

Thirty-seven. For the year. On this very train. To work, from work. Mornings and evenings. An average, so far, of about one and half roughly every two weeks. I don’t count the guy who showed me his knuckle through his fly. I guess there was a story there, but, well, whatever.

Thirty-seven. So you will excuse me if I do not gasp. Or cry out. Go “Oh!” Or even raise an eyebrow. I have, to use a cliché, seen one – seem ‘em all.  Oh. Here’s my stop.

Well, um, thanks for the viewing.  You can feel secure that you are really just average. Which isn’t a bad thing.

(turns to leave, turns back)

Then again, it does lack…remarkability.

(glances down, smiles sympathetically, looks past the man and his penis, and exits)

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About Vicki Caroline Cheatwood

Writerly. Rebooting. Evolving. Searching for great chicken salad.
This entry was posted in Pimp My Lent, Plays and Playwriting. Bookmark the permalink.

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