You can find his work here: Body in the Bathtub
Play
Curtains open, centre stage stands a man, he is wearing skinny jeans, a messenger bag and has funky hair, he walks to centre front. Looks out to the auditorium.
Man: (with passion) IL N'Y A AUCUN AVENIR POUR NOUS
Man walks back to centre stage. He takes a beer from his messenger back. He sits down, he retrieves a bottle opener from his pocket. He removes the bottle cap and proceeds to drink.
Curtains close.
Poem
The streets of Chicago are lonely
at night when the homeless are gone
and not screaming a sound for
us to hear their madness
they just want to be
loved like we are
but they are
not loved
no.
Prose
Looking out of his balcony, a ledge really, onto rue de l'abbaye. A string of Vespa scooters took up half the small street. He tossed his cigarette out, landing next to a tourist. The tourist looks up, he smiles, winks, and puts his thumb up and shouts “YEAH!”. He walks back into the apartment and she asks why he did that stupid American colloquialism. He shrugs and sits down on the sofa and puts his feet on the coffee table, knocking over a bottle of wine that spreads over the newspaper and Kafka short that neither he nor she remembers buying. She rushes to clean it up, he changes channel. He flicks through several channels, nothing. He gets up and heads to the kitchen area. He takes a beer from the fridge and heads back to the sofa. He puts his feet back on the coffee table she just cleaned. She exits the apartment. She does not take her phone.
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