The first half.
As the audience takes its seat and waits in the auditorium, there’s a session on stage with musicians and singers belting out songs to one another. It’s raw, chaotic and hugely positive.
Suddenly it’s dark and silent.
A light fades up on the Guy singing “Leave.”
LEAVE
GUY:
I can’t wait forever is all that you said
Before you stood up
And you won’t disappoint me
I can do that myself
But I’m glad that you’ve come
Now if you don’t mind
Leave, leave,
And free yourself at the same time
Leave, leave,
I don’t understand, you’ve already gone
I hope you feel better
Now that it’s out
What took you so long
And the truth has a habit
Of falling outta your mouth
Well now that it’s come
If you don’t mind
Leave, leave,
And please yourself at the same time
Leave, leave,
Let go of my hand
You said what you came to now
Leave, leave,
Let go of my hand
You said what you have to now
Leave, leave,
Leave, leave,
Let go of my hand
You said what you have to now
Leave, leave ...
(He’s finished.
He quietly takes the strap off the guitar and slowly lowers the guitar to the ground.
He turns to leave the stage.
Then from the shadows:)
GIRL: That song you play—is it yours?
(He stops and looks into the darkness but can’t see her just yet.)
I know you can talk I just heard you sing—unless you cannot talk and only sing. If you want you can sing me your answer to my question . . .
GUY (He’s leaving): No thanks.
GIRL: I made you talk just now.
GUY: I could talk already . . .
GIRL: So you write this song?
GUY: Yeah.
GIRL: It’s very good.
GUY: Thanks.
GIRL: You’re welcome. Hello.
GUY: Hey.
(A slight pause.)
GIRL: Is it always me who has to start the conversation?
GUY: Well you seem more up for it than I do.
GIRL: It’s not even my language this English.
GUY: You speak it well.
GIRL: I have an accent.
GUY: We all have accents.
GIRL: We are people of the world.
GUY: Right.
GIRL: Do you enjoy being Irish?
GUY: Seriously?
GIRL: I’m always serious—I’m Czech. Are you enjoying your life right now?
GUY: Sorry, what?! . . .
GIRL: Why do you leave your guitar on the ground?
GUY: I don’t want it anymore.
GIRL: Is it too heavy?
GUY: No.
GIRL: You should pick it up—guitars cost money.
GUY: Look I better go . . .
GIRL: Where?
GUY: To work.
GIRL: What is your work please?
GUY: I fix Hoovers.
GIRL: What is Hoovers?!
GUY: You know . . . vacuum cleaners.
GIRL: You fix vacuum cleaners?! My God, really?!! This is incredible! I have here a vacuum cleaner that needs fixing.
(Somehow a vacuum cleaner has appeared right beside her.)
It was my destiny to meet you today—to listen to your beautiful song—to hear of your fabulous fixing.
GUY: Your destiny?
GIRL: It must be, right?!
GUY: So what’s wrong with it?
GIRL: It doesn’t suck....