Act 1, Scene 1

    [Stage Right lights up.  It is a diner called The Sunrise. Minniefield stands behind the counter wearing an apron.  Mr. Mogus  stands in a suit and tie.  He holds a briefcase in his right hand.  The atmosphere is tense.]
 

Minniefield:    Do you know how long?  [Pauses]  How old are you?
 

Mr. Mogus:      Pardon?
 

Minniefield:    How old are you?

Mr. Mogus:      Listen, I know you are upset.  I know that you--

Minniefield:    No, you listen.  You don’t know a damn thing.  You were twelve

                years old when I opened this diner.  You forty years old, right?

Mr. Mogus:      Forty-two.

Minniefield:    [He slaps the counter.]  Fourteen years old.  [He walks downstage

                to the other end of the counter and begins wiping it off.]  My

                first job was when I was fourteen years old.  I was working the lab

                animals for Abco back in 1952.  [He takes a drink of his soda.]  I

                had to come in the back.  And they didn’t pay me as much as they did

                the white fellows. But it was mor’n I’d make elsewhere--

Mr. Mogus:      Mr. Minniefield, as long as we’re through discussing our business,

                I should be going.  I have  other appointments--

Minniefield:    What, they give you a bonus for closing down more than one nigger

                a day?

Mr. Mogus:      Mr. Minniefield, this is not a racial thing.  It is not even a

                personal thing. You haven't paid your property taxes in three years,

                and we have to close you down pending  non-payment.  And since you

                have refused payment, you leave us little choice.

Minniefield:    Well then you listen.  If you gone close my diner, you ‘re gone listen.

                Now you be damn straight about that.  [He pauses] I was workin the lab

                animals for Abco.  I was fourteen years old.  As old as you was when I

                opened The Sunrise.   And this is all I have to say--it’s all I want

                to say to you--When I was workin with the animals--cleanin they cages,

                and feedin’m and whatnot, I knew they was poisoning them.  I knew they

                was doin all kinds of stuff to em.  And I took good care of em all.

                I cleaned they cages.  I fed em.  I treated em like they was my pets.

                Cause I knew most of em wasn’t gone make it.

        [Stage Right dims into blackness.  Stage Left is suddenly lighted]




Act 1, Scene 2


        [Sounds of traffic and other city sounds.    Stevey wakes from balled

newspapers at stage left and walks towards center stage.  He wears corduroy

slacks and a tee shirt that says “Derrida Doesn’t It Better.”  He rubs his head.

A car horn blares, and he stumbles backwards and looks after the car that nearly

hit him.  He walks to stage right, opens the door to the diner,  and walks in.

He is  hesitant.]

Act 1, scene 3

        [Stage Right lights up, Stage Left dims into darkness Minniefield stands

behind a counter wearing an apron.  Mr. Mogus stands in front of the counter.

Both turn to look at Stevey, who pauses at the door.]

Minniefield:    Can I help you?

Mr. Mogus:      [To Minniefield] Well, I wish you good luck, and hope things work

                 out for you. [Exits]

Stevey:         Uh, yeah.  This will sound strange...but...I have no idea where I am.

                I mean, I know I am in a diner called The Sunrise.  But I have no idea

                how I got here.  [Pauses]  I mean, I know I walked across the street to

                get here.  But I don’t know  what street it is.  I don’t know where here is.

Minniefield:    You see that building out the window there?

Stevey:             Yeah.

Minniefield:    That’s the John Hancock Building.

Minniefield:    No, it looks like the Sears Tower.

Stevey:         Why would they put a building that looks like the Sears Tower in New York?

Minniefield:    Cause you ain’t in New York.  You  in Chicago.

Stevey:         Christ.  I don’t think I’ve ever been to  Chicago.

Minniefield:    You been to New York?

Stevey:         No, I don’t think I’ve been to New York,  either.  [Pauses]  Guess I could’ve,

                though.

Minniefield:    How’d you get that bump on your head?

Stevey:         [Touches the bump on his forehead.  Explores it tentatively]  I don’t know.

                [Pauses]  I’m hungry.  What kind of food do you have here?

Minniefield:    What you want?

Stevey:         I don’t know.  How about a cheeseburger?

Minniefield:    We make a good ‘un.  Everything on it?

Stevey:         Yeah.  Sure.   I like everything today.  [Digs through his pocket and finds

                a wad of hundred dollar bills.  He looks startled and puts the wad away.

                He hands Minniefield one of the bills.]

Minniefield:    I ain’t got change for a Franklin.

Stevey:         All I have is hundreds.  Hmmm.  Throw in some fries. [He looks at the menu]

                And one of those milkshakes.   And keep the change.

Minniefield:    You sure?  You got a nasty bump.

Stevey:         I don’t even know whose money it is.  Yeah, I’m sure.  Just make the

                milkshake thick.  I can’t stand thin milkshakes.  [Pauses.  Looks Confused]

                I think.

        

        [Minniefield begins cooking on the grill.   Stevey  digs through his other pockets,

finds nothing else important and takes a seat at the bar.  The stage dims.]

Act 2, scene 1

        [Stage left  lights up.    It is the comfortable apartment of Derrick and Meg.

He smokes a cigarette absently, seated in an easy chair.  She sits at the dining room table.

She works a crossword puzzle. ]

Meg:            What’s the the longest  standard, non-medical English word?

                Antidisestablishmentarianism, or floccinaucinihilipilification?

Derrick:        I have no idea.

Meg:            Guess who I spoke to this afternoon at the gym?

Derrick:        Colonel Sanders.

Meg:            Brig Hughes.

Derrick:        Oh yeah?  What’d he say?

Meg:            That diner is closing down.

Derrick:        They have good cheeseburgers.  I had one Friday.

Meg:            The old man won’t pay taxes.  Brig said he’d recommend they open a store there.

Derrick:        Crispy lettuce.

Meg:            At my suggestion, mind you.   The Anderson name carries a lot of weight around

                here.

Derrick:        I hate burgers that have soggy, old, flimsy lettuce.  Really turns me off of

                the whole burger experience.  I mean, you don’t want to eat red meat anyway.

                But especially not if the lettuce is no good.  A cheeseburger should be a

                correct balance of flavors.

Meg:            Would you listen to me.   They are going to open a franchise right across the

                street from our building.

Derrick:        It isn’t our building yet.  It is just a building.

Meg:            Did you talk to dad today?

Derrick:        No.  I told you I don’t want his help.

Meg:            When they leak the news that they’re going to open a Starbucks there,

              the property value is gonna shoot through the roof.  You have to talk to him

                now.

Derrick:        [Defiant]  Why?

Meg:            Because Starbucks brings art students, and art students bring their parents’

                money. We’ve talked about--

Derrick:        Not that!  Why do I have to take your father’s money?  I don’t want this to

                be another Anderson and son-in-law  venture.   He gets his hands on things and

                it never goes where I want it to.

Meg:            I don’t want to struggle the rest of our lives.

Derrick:        You’ve never had to struggle more than picking up the phone and calling your

                dad.  I make 45 thousand a year.  That’s enough for us.

Meg:            Says you.  I don’t want to live hand to mouth.

Derrick:        For God’s sake, I have 65 thousand invested in the market. We don’t live hand

                to mouth.

        [Stage left dims]

Act 2, scene 2
        [Stage right become lit.  It is The Sunrise.   Punkboy and Punkgirl sit up stage at a

table.  He:  pink hair, nose ring, acne, leather.  She: blue hair, eyebrow, lip, ear, nose

piercings.  Ripped up fishnet hose.    Stevey sits at the counter, drinking a milkshake.

He is noticeably interested in the conversation between the punks.]

Punkgirl:       ...but I can’t help the way I feel.  I don’t--

Punkboy:        You don’t want to break out of your paradigm.

Punkgirl:       No...my what?

Punkboy:        Your paradigm.  Your self- or peer group-imposed collection of ideological

                constructs.

Punkgirl:       [Pauses]  Bullshit.  That has nothing to do with anything.

Punkboy:        It does.  It has everything to do with everything.  If you could expand

                the boundaries of your thoughts...

Punkgirl:        That is so stupid.  If everyone did that there would be nothing stable

                and reliable about the  world.

Punkboy:        It is not stupid.   All it is is you learning to perceive me differently.

                All you have to do is relearn the way you think about me.  I.E. change your

                paradigm: the collection of patterns and actions that define you.

Punkgirl:       I’m going to change my whole life for you?

Punkboy:        Yes.  Exactly.  It won’t be hard.  I’ll help you.

Punkgirl:        [Looks at her watch]  I have to go to work.

Punkboy:        Will you go out with me tonight when you get off work?

Punkgirl:       [Turning to leave] No.

Punkboy:        See? You can’t break free. You’re trapped.

Punkgirl:        I am not trapped.  [looks at her watch]  I’m late for work.

Punkboy:        Trapped!

Punkgirl:       Goodbye.  [Exits]

Punkboy:        Trapped!  Shit.

        [Stevey finishes his milkshake with a loud slurp, just as Minniefield walks

to the counter from offstage right.]

Minniefield:    You want another?

Stevey:         If I have another I’ll be sick.

Minniefield:    Good, cause I think we out of ice cream now.

Stevey:         Sorry.  [Stevey gets up and walks to table of Punkboy.]

Minniefield:    That’s alright.  You want anything else, let me know.

Stevey:         [To Punkboy]  I heard what you were saying.   It seems familiar.

Punkboy:        It’s all about the social construction of truth.  Her peers decided I don’t

                fit the mold of what they think  is  BEAUTIFUL, and so I go home alone.

Stevey:         She had to go to work.

Punkboy:        You know what I mean.

Stevey:         Can she help how she feels?

Punkboy:        But it isn’t real.

Stevey:         Even if it isn’t real.  It’s real.  Don’t you see that?  There will always

                be ego-based insecurity.  [Pauses]  Someone I respected said that to me once.

Punkboy:        Who?

Stevey:         I can’t remember.  But even if her opinion is based on the fact that she is

                scared, or based on the fact that she has a crush on someone else, or based

                on the fact that she has a bunch of shallow friends, it is still truth.

Punkboy:        But Hitler is still Hitler.

Stevey:         No, Hitler was a collective.  A group of actions and reactions.  Hitler

                wouldn’t have happened if the economy had been good.

Punkboy:        That’s bullshit.  Hitler was evil.

Stevey:         Of course he was.  But Hitler wouldn’t have been allowed to be as evil

                as he was if the conditions of society had not set the stage for it and

                allowed for it.  You’re confusing Hitler with the actions of Hitler.

                Hitler would have had evil opinions but no way of enacting them if others

                had not allowed it.  Or maybe he would not have been racist or evil if he

                had not been greedy.  He was an art student.  And poor.  Artists are tired of

                starving.  [Pauses.Looks confused]  I think.

Punkboy:        So you’re saying that her society makes her a Hitler.

Stevey:         No.  I am saying that she may or may not be who she is because of who she is.

                Instead/or/but, she may or may not be who she is because of the things that made

                her be who she is.   Either way, it is still a real and knowable reality.

                Hitler was either greedy or made greedy, and she is either not attracted to you

                or made to be not attracted to you.  Either  way she is not attracted to you and

                unless she believes that there is a capital T truth, there is no way for her

                to know which is which and therefore  no way to know  whether or  not

                her paradigm is changeable.   Hence, she cannot change her paradigm.  Even

                if her paradigm is not of her own choosing.  [Pauses.  Looks   confused]

                I think.

Punkboy:        Well that sucks.

Stevey:         Yeah, but you can’t judge her for that. And that’s where social construction

                collapses. Hitler should know that killing people is wrong.  She can’t help

                it if she doesn’t want to go out with you. We expect that people will know

                the difference.  [Pauses]  I think.

Punkboy:        But it still sucks.

Stevey:         Yeah, it still sucks.  Tell you what, I feel like I need to go walk around

                for a while and get my  bearings.  Maybe I will see you later.

                [To Minniefield]  See you.  [Exits]

Punkboy:        Who is that guy?

Minniefield:    I don’t know.  A good tipper.

        [Stage right dims.   Stage left lights up.]

Act 2, Scene 3

        [Again the apartment of Derrick and Meg.  Derrick still smokes.  Meg  makes a drink.]

Meg:            You know it is the wisest move.

Derrick:        Sure, for us.  Not for anyone else.

Meg:            You’re right.  We’re the only people in America who want to make money.

Derrick:        Here is where I am coming from.  I will take the money as long as he

                backs off.  And as  long as I...I hate Starbucks.  I don’t want a

                Starsucks right across the street.

Meg:            What are you talking about?

Derrick:        And I hate Brig Hughes, too.  God he annoys me.  He’s a pompous ass.

                I bet he drives a sports utility vehicle. Besides,  I want a chance to

                talk to the old man first.

Meg:            The old man?

Derrick:        The man who owns the diner.

Meg:            What are you talking about?

Derrick:        I would rather have a diner across the street than a Starbucks

                across the street. Besides, he’s a nice guy.  I’ve talked with him before.

Meg:            About what for God’s sake?

Derrick:        One day we talked about the Cubs.

Meg:            You don’t even like  baseball.

Derrick:        Yeah, but I liked talking to him.

Meg:            What has gotten into you lately?  We used to want this building.  Remember?

Derrick:        Yeah.  It just seems.  I can’t explain it.  I still want the building.

                I want to make something of myself.  But I care more about the building as

                a building than about the building as a profit.   And I don’t want your

                father’s name or his money in this project. This is our project.  Not his.

                [Pause]  And I don’t like Starbucks.

        [Stage Right lights up, Stage Left dims into darkness.]

Act 3, Scene 1

        [The Sunrise.  Minniefield is behind the counter cleaning.  Punkboy and a Friend

sit at the table upstage.]

Punkboy:        But see, we’re all a collection of what we are, and what we are made to

                be, and whatever mood we may be in at a given time, and whatever happened

                to us to make us predisposed to be in a mood or a mind set.  See, we aren’t

                just people.  We’re a bunch of stuff.

Friend:         Wow.  That’s heavy.

Punkboy:        And so if she won’t go out with me, she can’t help it.  I mean, she’s not

                like Hitler or anything, but she should know better but she can’t.  See what

                I mean?

Friend:         Huh?

Minniefield:    [Comes from offstage  right.]  Alright fellows.  I got to close up now.

                Finish your coffee.

Punkboy:        You don’t close for another two hours.

Minniefield:    Tonight I am closing early.  So you both be gone.  Hear?

Friend:         [To Punkboy]  Yeah, let’s go ahead and bail. I’ll get your coffee.

Minniefield:    Coffee was on the house tonight.  Now  y’all get on.

    [Punkboy and Friend exit.  Minniefield cleans their table, then walks around the diner,

occasionally stopping to look at a wall decoration and smile.  Minniefield walks offstage

right.]

        [Stage right remains bright.  Stage left lights dimly. ]

Act 3, Scene 2

        [Derrick and Meg walk down the street across from The Sunrise.   Meg seems

apprehensive.]

Meg:            I can’t believe we’re doing this.  We’re going to get mugged.

Derrick:        We’re not going to get mugged.  [Smiles.]  The minorities are just as

                afraid of you as you are of them.

Meg:            That is not funny.  I don’t even know why we are out here.  This is crazy.

Derrick:        I’m going to offer to pay his back taxes.  Since we’ll be his new neighbors,

                I think it might be a nice gesture.  Especially since we’re part of the reason

                his taxes are going up. If he won’t accept a gift, maybe I’ll just arrange it

                like a business deal.

Meg:            This is nuts.

        [Derrick opens the door to The Sunrise.  Derrick and Meg enter.]

Meg:            No one’s here.  Let’s go.

Derrick:        Hello?  [He looks offstage right.]  Oh Christ!

Meg:            What?

Derrick:        He’s hanged himself!

Meg:            [Walking over to take a look]  Sweet Jesus!  [looks closer]  Is that the

                suicide note hanging out of his pocket?

Derrick:        [Looks closer]  No, it’s...it’s a hundred dollar bill.  [Picks up the

                phone from the counter.]  It’s been disconnected.  Christ.  Wait here.

                Don’t touch anything.  I’ll get the police.  [Exits]

Meg:            [Looks around.  Waits until Derrick is out of sight.  Walks offstage right.

                In a moment she returns, stuffing something in her pocket.]

    [Stage right fades.   Red and Blue flashing lights splash across the diner.  Stevey walks up stage left.]

Stevey:                 What the--

From offstage:    Stevey!  Stevey!

Stevey:                 Huh?  [turns around as Nate and Devon run up to him.]

Devon:                  Man, where the hell have you been?

Nate:                   You scared the hell out of us.

Stevey:                 I’m sorry.  I have this bump on my head and--

Nate:                   No shit, the doc said it was a concussion.  Maybe even a closed head

                        injury.

Stevey:                 What doctor?

Devon:                  Do you remember the wreck?

Stevey:                 No.  I guess not.

Nate:           We hit a bridge guardrail.  You smacked the dashboard pretty good.

                Then you just up and walked out of the hospital.

Devon:          Yeah, walked right out while they were checkin over numbskull’s  head, here.

Nate:           I told em you was the one with the good head, goin to college and all,

                but they was lookin over me first.  I don’t know  why.  I guess they thought

                I was better lookin or somethin.

Stevey:         College?  Where?  I’m sorry.  I recognize you both.  But I don’t know from

                where.   What are  your names?

Nate:           Come on, don’t you think you’re overdoin this just a bit?

Devon:          [To Nate]  Knock it off, dickbone.  [To Stevey]  Look, we’re going to get

                you back to the hospital.  They got the cops out looking for you and everything.

                I’ve already talked to my mom and dad, and they’ll  pay for plane tickets back to

                KC for all of  us.

Stevey:         KC?

Nate:           Stevey, you still got our travel money?

Stevey:         Uh.  [Pauses] Yeah.    [He digs the wad of hundreds out and hands them to Nate,

                who counts them.]

Nate:           We’re a hundred short.

Devon:          Nevermind about that.  Let’s get out of here.   I think someone got murdered

                or  something  over there in that diner.

Nate:           So where’s the money?

Stevey:         [Looks at the  diner.]  I lost it.

Nate:           Oh well, that doesn’t matter.  Know  what?  That guardrail wasn’t marked

                with that reflective paint all that nighttime shit is supposed to be marked

                with.  I’ll talk to my dad about it, but I’m pretty sure we can sue the city.

                Head injury or not, we’re gonna be rich.

    [They exit stage left.  The lights dim except for the Red and Blue flashing lights.]

                                                                                 The End

Home