Friday, October 06, 2006

Some Practice with Dialogue: Exhaustion and Miscommunication (Part 1: The Meeting)

One thigh lays flat against the cold sidewalk, the foot of the other leg balances precariously on its heel, an elbow and a forearm are also pressing on the concrete, the corpulent vagrant awkwardly tries to lay himself out, to fall asleep. The late night is disturbed only by the sound he makes inadvertently scraping pebbles against the hard surface. He has been making-his-way all day long, and this lonely patch of sidewalk seemed a good place to unburden himself. Lowering himself then, on shaking limbs, his cheek has almost found the ground, his large, round behind wagging in the air, almost tasting that vanishing bliss of sleep, when a friendly voice booms from within the darkness: “Charles!”. Immediately he is on his knees, prepared for the worst, his ten fat fingers pushed into his thickly clothed chest, leaving an impression. “I’m sorry Charles, don’t have a heart attack please,” rolled on the manly voice, “don’t you remember me?”

“You stand all the way in the back of the shadows my friend, I cannot see you, let alone determine whether I know you or not,” said Charles cautiously. “I’m here all alone, I’ve found a nice spot. I’m not such a miser that I need it all for myself, so you can come on out and take a nap here too.”

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