Sample Pages

ACT ONE

A one-bedroom apartment in Seattle. Old, broken furniture, the kind you might find in the street, e.g. a coffee table with three legs, an old stained couch with a cushion missing, a broken lamp ... ANDREW is in the process of cleaning; an immense job. He wears rubber gloves and sticks trash into a garbage bag. He is mid- 40s and dressed like someone from the “grunge” era: i.e. long hair, thrift store clothes, lumberjack shirt. Grunge music (such as Melvins’ Honey Bucket) plays at an insanely loud volume, which fazes ANDREW not at all. A KNOCK ON THE DOOR. He doesn’t hear it. A LOUDER KNOCK. ANDREW turns off the music and takes off the gloves. He answers the door to reveal ROBBIE MURPHY, age 51. ROBBIE has shorter hair than ANDREW and is dressed in expensive clothes.

ANDREW: Robbie Murphy.

ROBBIE: Hey Andrew.

ANDREW: Robbie fucking Murphy.

ROBBIE: In the flesh.

ANDREW: In the fucking flesh.

ROBBIE: Crazy, huh?

ANDREW: Fucking insane.

ROBBIE: It is it really is.

ANDREW: Come in man how are you?

ROBBIE: I’m ... you know ...

ANDREW: Yeah man.

ANDREW and ROBBIE hug.

Look at you man you look exactly the same.

ROBBIE: No I don’t.

ANDREW: Yeah you do. I mean except for the hair and the clothes and the teeth and the tan you look exactly the same.

ROBBIE: So do you.

ANDREW: No I don’t.

ROBBIE: No you don’t.

They laugh.

ANDREW: Anyway ... welcome to my brother’s fuckin’ ... It’s a shithole.

ROBBIE: It’s ...

ANDREW: It’s a shithole. I haven’t even been over here for months.

Pause. They both take in the room.

You want a beer?

ROBBIE: Um ... I don’t usually drink beer at eight in the morning.

ANDREW: Yeah no me neither.

(pause)

So ... beer?

ROBBIE: Sure.

ANDREW: (indicates the couch) Just push all that shit [out of the way] ...

ANDREW exits. ROBBIE moves some stuff off the couch and sits. He scans the room, looking it over. ANDREW returns, holding two beers. He hands one to ROBBIE.

ROBBIE: This is ...

ANDREW: What?

ROBBIE: Nothing. It just ... It takes me back.

ANDREW: ... takes me back, too. I don’t think it’s been cleaned since 1998. Cheers huh?

ROBBIE: Cheers.

They drink. ANDREW stares.

I can’t get over it.

ANDREW: Over what?

ROBBIE: You. Being here.

ANDREW: Neither can I.

ROBBIE: I mean when I called I never thought in a million years ...

ANDREW: It’s no big deal.

ROBBIE: It is a big deal. It’s a very big deal.

ANDREW: I guess it is.

They drink.

So ... Jesus ... how do you like living in L.A. man?

ROBBIE: It’s good.

ANDEW: I bet.

ROBBIE: Yeah. You know. The weather.

ANDREW: The beaches.

ROBBIE: Uh-huh.

ANDREW: Bikinis.

ROBBIE: Yeah.

ANDREW: Disneyland and shit.

ROBBIE: Mm-hm.

ANDREW: Fame.

(pause)

What’s that like?

ROBBIE: What do you mean?

ANDREW: I mean what’s it like having people recognizing you on the street and shit asking for your autograph all the time?

ROBBIE: Um it’s kind of like having a practical joke played on you except it’s the same fucking joke and it’s every fucking day and it never fucking ends.

ANDREW: (pause, nods) ... that’s cool man. You ever miss it?

ROBBIE: Miss what?

ANDREW: Seattle.

ROBBIE: Oh yeah man. Definitely. All the time.

ANDREW: No you don’t.

ROBBIE: Not at all.

They laugh.

No I do though actually.

ANDREW: You do?

ROBBIE: Yeah. You know.

ANDREW: Yeah. No.

ROBBIE: No.

They laugh.

No but. Seriously. Except it’s like ... the Seattle I miss doesn’t even fucking exist anymore.

ANDREW: Man that’s the fucking truth.

(pause)

It’s all gone.

ROBBIE: Yeah.

(pause)

What is?

ANDREW: Everything man. You name it. The V ogue, The Show Box, OK Hotel, The Crocodile, Moe’s, Off-Ramp, RKCNDY [pronounces it ‘Rock Candy], The Weathered Wall ...

ROBBIE: The Weathered Wall’s gone?

ANDREW: [They] ... tore it down years ago.

ROBBIE: What I miss. What I really miss. Is. You know. The whole thing.

ANDREW: Yeah. What thing?

During the following ROBBIE picks up an old guitar and begins strumming.

ROBBIE: The whole fucking ... All of it man. I miss the rain and the shitty garage bands and the loud fucking distortion and the sweat and the vomit and the cigarette smoke you can never get out of your clothes and people touching each other inappropriately all the time and never knowing where you’re gonna wake up or who you’re gonna wake up with. Just you know the whole fucking nihilistic thing not caring about consequences just not giving a shit about anything really.

ANDREW: (pause, nods) It was great.

ROBBIE: You know what I mean?

ANDREW: It’s all gone man.

(brief pause)

Except for the rain.

ROBBIE looks at the guitar.

ROBBIE: Oh shit. I think this is mine.

ANDREW: It is?

ROBBIE: Yeah it’s got ... This is my fucking [guitar] ...

ANDREW: You want it man take it.8

ROBBIE: No I don’t ... I’m just [surprised] ...

He plays lightly. Tunes it a little.

You still play?

ANDREW: Yeah you know a little. Our band plays The Central Tuesday nights.

ROBBIE: The Central is still around?

ANDREW: Yeah it’s around except now they’ve got like twenty dollar burgers and fuckin’ IPAS but yeah man they’re still here they survived the pandemic and that whole insanity. They like to play up that “grunge” shit ...

ROBBIE: Yeah yeah yeah ...

ANDREW: Nirvana played there blah blah fucking blah.

ROBBIE: Man I remember Kurt and Kris getting banned from there for smashing the place up.

ANDREW: You should see it now. Assholes with two hundred dollar Doc Martins ...

ROBBIE: Right.

ANDREW: We weren’t trying to start a fuckin’ trend ...

ROBBIE: Yeah. No.

ANDREW: ... we just couldn’t afford fuckin’ clothes.

ROBBIE nods. Pause.

Nobody remembers what it was like. Even the people who were there don’t remember.

(pause)

So you’re like married, kids ... ?

ROBBIE: One kid. A daughter.

ANDREW: Got any pictures?

ROBBIE: Um. Yeah. Sure.

ROBBIE takes out his phone and shows ANDREW a photo.

ANDREW: That’s your daughter?

ROBBIE: Um no. That’s my wife.

ANDREW: That’s your wife?

ROBBIE: Yeah.

ROBBIE scrolls to the next photo.

That’s my daughter.

ANDREW: Cute.

ROBBIE: Brooklyn.

ANDREW: Looks like L.A.

ROBBIE: No. That’s her name. Brooklyn.

ANDREW: Brooklyn?

ROBBIE: Yeah.

ANDREW: Nice.

Let me see your wife again.

(pause)

ROBBIE scrolls back to his wife. ANDREW looks at the photo.

They don’t look real.

Pause.

ROBBIE: What doesn’t?

ANDREW

Your wife and daughter. They look like they stepped out of a fuckin’ magazine or

something. I mean it as a compliment.

ROBBIE

Yeah well ... don’t let appearances fool you.

ROBBIE puts his phone away.

What about you man?

ANDREW

Me?

Yeah you know. Marriage, kids, family ...

ANDREW: Um yeah. None of the above.

ROBBIE: What do you do for you know ... money?

ANDREW: I’m a chef.

ROBBIE: A chef?

ANDREW: Yeah. I cook food. And people. You know. Eat it.

ROBBIE: That’s cool man.

ANDREW: Yeah it’s pretty cool. I work in an old folks home so it isn’t too you know demanding or anything. It’s not like anyone’s in a fuckin’ rush. Most of them are about to die anyway. 

Pause. ROBBIE looks around the room, possibly stands up and moves around.

ROBBIE: So is this ... ? Is there where he ... ?

ANDREW: (nods). This is where I found him. Not here here. In there. The bedroom. On the [floor] ...