Tuesday, November 08, 2005
beginning of Ambience Pizza/54th and 9th
(A pizza place. April in an apron. John in street clothes. They are not aware of one another at first.) JOHN. Every day at lunch APRIL. Every day at lunch JOHN. (overlapping) I stop in-- APRIL. (overlapping) He stops in, for a slice, at the pizza place where I work. JOHN. I know she’s beautiful because whenever I think of her, I think of her in black and white. APRIL. When he comes to the counter I give him three napkins although I know I’m only supposed to give two. The pizza is saucy; the pizza is greasy. I don’t want him to be without sufficient surfaces with which to wipe his face and hands. JOHN. I like old movies because of the pacing and the quips—the back and forth. Sometimes I think our conversations will go like that. But they never do. ARIL. They go like this. (They speak to one another now.) JOHN. Hi. APRIL. Hi. JOHN. A slice of cheese. APRIL. Of cheese, right. JOHN. Three twenty five. APRIL. Right. Yes. Three twenty five. (Back to the audience.) JOHN. I always think I will come up with something witty to say. Right there. On the spur of the moment. But I never do. I have nothing witty to say about the price of pizza.