ACT ONE
SCENE 1
September 29, 2008
Outside itās 72Ā°F.
In the news: The 63rd session of the United Nations General Assembly convenes. The Dow Jones Industrial Average falls 778.68 points, marking the largest single-day decline in stock market history. Reading residents sample fresh apple cider at the Annual Fall Festival on Old Dry Road Farm.
Music. Lights up.
Parole office. Spare. Institutional.
Jason (white American, twenty-nine), hair closely shorn. He has a black eye and white supremacist tattoos inked across his face. Evan (African-American, forties), comfortably puffy.
EVAN: So, you got a job?
JASON: Yeah.
EVAN: Iām not gonna run down everything. You know the drill.
JASON: Yeah.
EVAN: So, youāre making pretzels?
JASON: Yeah.
(A moment.)
EVAN: Soft?
JASON: Yeah.
EVAN: Living at the same address?
JASON: Yeah.
EVAN: The mission?
JASON: Yeah, finally got a bed downstairs.
EVAN: Thatās real good. I hear that shelterās pretty clean.
JASON: Yeah, but fucking guys steal. Canāt have nice stuff. But, um, Father Hunt lets me keep my turtles.
(Jason fidgets. Evan assesses.)
EVAN: So. You gonna tell me what happened?
JASON: What?
EVAN: I know you donāt wanna be here. I donāt wanna be here either.
JASON: Yeah, whatever.
EVAN: Donāt whatever me. Iām not one of your stupid friends, letās be clear about that.
JASON: Whatever.
EVAN: Try me! Iām not playing fucking games. Iāll knock you clear into tomorrow, understood? But, fortunately for you, I donāt have to, you know why? Because I got this pen, and you know what this pen does?
JASON: Yeahā
EVAN: It writes. And, you know what itās gonna write if you donāt give me more than one- or two-syllable answers? Itās gonna write that youāre belligerent, defiant, reluctant to observe protocol. You understand those words, Jason?
JASON: Yeah.
EVAN (Voice slowly crescendos): Itās gonna write that you have issues with authority that may prove too challenging. This pen could make things very difficult for you, young man. And you know what happens to young men that donāt cooperate? . . . Huh? . . . Huh?
JASON: You asking me?
EVAN: Whatcha think Iām askingāmyself? Of course Iām asking you, moron! You want me to ask again?
JASON: No. I donāt need you to ask again.
EVAN: Very good. A sentence. Weāre making some progress here. So, what happened?
JASON: I mean . . . I didnāt do shit.
EVAN: So you didnāt do shit, but someone did . . . do shit.
JASON: Uhā
EVAN: And, you gave yourself a black eye and busted lip?
(A moment.)
What happened?
JASON: I got sucker-punched.
EVAN: Cuzā?
JASON: I dunno.
EVAN: Some guy just comes up and hits ya. And you, you didnāt do nothing?
JASON: Nah. Not really. I was in the bathroom at Locoās.
EVAN: Locoās?
JASON: Yeah, Locoās.
EVAN: Iām sorry? Locoās?
JASON: I canāt go to Locoās?
EVAN: Weāve talked about Locoās. Go on.
JASON: This big fucking biker dude, I donāt know āem, like steps up behind me. Heās like you were looking at my girl. I am so, like, dude, I donāt even know who the fuck your girl is. And heās wearing these huge rings, both fucking hands, like medieval biker knight.
EVAN: Hmm.
JASON: And . . . then he hits me hard, so hard that I swear to God I see stars. Like Bam! My whole face goes numb. Sparky had to pull āem off of me.
EVAN: Just because you looked at his girl.
JASON: I didnāt look at his girl, thatās why itās so fucked up.
EVAN: And if I ask you to piss in this cup, whatās it gonna tell me?
JASON: You donāt gotta believe me, but Iām telling ya the // truth.
EVAN: Okay. Thereās the cup.
JASON: What?
EVAN: What do you mean, what?
JASON: Cāmon.
EVAN: The cup, pick it up.
JASON: I just got a job. What do you want?
EVAN: I donāt want anything from you, but the state does and itās my unfortunate job to ensure that you comply.
JASON: Are we gonna do this?
EVAN: Pick it up.
JASON: You are a fucking asshole. Fuck you, nigga!
(A moment. Evan, stone, stares long and hard at Jason.)
(Less committed) Fuck you!
EVAN: Pick it up!
JASON: I ...