The Dead Woman

Here’s a monologue from a draft of my new play “The Dead Woman”:

DEAD WOMAN

They’re brewing coffee in there.  Good cheap sugary stuff that will sit and soak in itself all day.  A bad cup of coffee could really ruin my morning. If I got a bad cup of coffee I used to think that the universe had something against me that day, like, fuck you for wanting to have good coffee, wanting to start the day off with some sorta semblance of happiness…fuck you for wanting something simple.  There were a couple days I went straight home and stayed in bed.  I thought if the coffee was really that terrible, then I didn’t want to see the rest of the day that followed it.  A bit melodramatic, right?  I think coffee is best when served just as the sun is coming up, or in the early evening when you can watch people still bustling around, shopping or whatever.  And the best sort of coffee shops have twinkle lights up, little sparkles of light that reflect off the shopping bags of people walking by.  Sometimes the light reflects in the coffee and you feel like you’re drinking little mirrors.  Sometimes I wish I could shallow a mirror so I could see what’s inside of me.  Don’t you?  (ZOE stares in shock at the DEAD WOMAN.)  Don’t you?

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