Thursday, October 21, 2004
A LARGE SWIRL OF LEAVES KICKS UP.
OPENING: DAY. LIGHT FILTERS THROUGH OVERHANGING TREE BRANCHES IN SMALL TOWN PARK. A MAN SITS ON PARK BENCH HANGING HIS HANDS BETWEEN HIS KNEES. THE BENCH IS HARDENED WITH TIME AND THE RECENT RAINS THAT IT HAS ENDURED. THE MAN IS MIDDLE AGED, BUT RISES WITH THE EFFORT OF AN OLD MAN.
MAN: (MUTTERS TO SELF) Gravity... I wonder if they know how easy they have it and how so I envy them.
HE RAISES AN ARM SEEMING TO PART THE AIR, BUT STOPS AS HIS ARM SIMPLY AND HEAVILY FALLS BACK TO HIS LAP.
MAN: (OUTLOUD TO SELF) Gravity is aburden for us creatures of the land. Not like birds and such, see? But for we poor beasts who must be content to stand upright on two or even four legs and walk around, following the contours of the ground, at the ground’s whim.
HE STRUGGLES TO RISE AS AN OLD MAN ARISING FROM AN EASY CHAIR THOUGH IT IS APPARENT THAT HE IS NO OLDER THAN 25 OR 26 YEARS OF AGE.
MAN LOOKS AROUND CAREFULLY.
MAN: The town that I walk tonight is a small one, but that isn’t any concern to me. They usually are. See that bulding over there? (POINTING TO RED BRICK WAREHOUSE.)
MAN: That over there, whatever it is, warehouse, supermarket, abandoned whatever... that is where I will fly tonight. (SMILES BROADLY TO SELF.) I am with the circus. I am a high wire artist, my father was and my father was before him. It runs in the blood, enough to wet my whistle.
MAN LOOKS AROUND AGAIN STILL, TALKING TO SELF, PANNING THE AIR ABOVE HIM.
MAN: One main street where the circus processional walked its way down it like a conquering Roman general this afternoon. We moved off into the fields outside the town limits to bed down for the night. We became a drunken beggar walking off with the stolen laundry from the wash line, so soon would we be gone.
HE CUPS A HAND OVER HIS EYES SCANNING THE HORIZON.
MAN: This town is as green around the edges as the corn surrounding it.MAN PAUSES, THINKS AS HE WALKS ALONG STREET SLOWLY, HANDS IN POCKETS. A few people stood around the main street watching us. Mainly farmers in town for the lunch hour dressed in the stereotypical blue jean bib overalls that you think you only see in the movies. Little kids transfixed by the gaily colored stranger who waltzed by them. No wonder kids used to run off and join the circus. They were transfixed in a way that made them get off their bikes and lay them down on the sidewalks with a clatter as they were on their way to the park or baseball diamond. they were the little tow head who had waved, his hands moving in an outsized bright red hand me down t-shirt, the boy who leaned over his bicycle bars trying to look like James Dean on a motorcycle as though he were disinterested and unaffected by all of this, the little girl in a green dress flanked by two boys and as she watched us pass, she dragged the boys with her in a tight grasp. A few hands extended from the cabs of the passing trucks and flicked up a palm of welcome while some just flicked cigarette ash listlessly in our direction. ¶ 7:34 AM
OPENING: DAY. LIGHT FILTERS THROUGH OVERHANGING TREE BRANCHES IN SMALL TOWN PARK. A MAN SITS ON PARK BENCH HANGING HIS HANDS BETWEEN HIS KNEES. THE BENCH IS HARDENED WITH TIME AND THE RECENT RAINS THAT IT HAS ENDURED. THE MAN IS MIDDLE AGED, BUT RISES WITH THE EFFORT OF AN OLD MAN.
MAN: (MUTTERS TO SELF) Gravity... I wonder if they know how easy they have it and how so I envy them.
HE RAISES AN ARM SEEMING TO PART THE AIR, BUT STOPS AS HIS ARM SIMPLY AND HEAVILY FALLS BACK TO HIS LAP.
MAN: (OUTLOUD TO SELF) Gravity is aburden for us creatures of the land. Not like birds and such, see? But for we poor beasts who must be content to stand upright on two or even four legs and walk around, following the contours of the ground, at the ground’s whim.
HE STRUGGLES TO RISE AS AN OLD MAN ARISING FROM AN EASY CHAIR THOUGH IT IS APPARENT THAT HE IS NO OLDER THAN 25 OR 26 YEARS OF AGE.
MAN LOOKS AROUND CAREFULLY.
MAN: The town that I walk tonight is a small one, but that isn’t any concern to me. They usually are. See that bulding over there? (POINTING TO RED BRICK WAREHOUSE.)
MAN: That over there, whatever it is, warehouse, supermarket, abandoned whatever... that is where I will fly tonight. (SMILES BROADLY TO SELF.) I am with the circus. I am a high wire artist, my father was and my father was before him. It runs in the blood, enough to wet my whistle.
MAN LOOKS AROUND AGAIN STILL, TALKING TO SELF, PANNING THE AIR ABOVE HIM.
MAN: One main street where the circus processional walked its way down it like a conquering Roman general this afternoon. We moved off into the fields outside the town limits to bed down for the night. We became a drunken beggar walking off with the stolen laundry from the wash line, so soon would we be gone.
HE CUPS A HAND OVER HIS EYES SCANNING THE HORIZON.
MAN: This town is as green around the edges as the corn surrounding it.MAN PAUSES, THINKS AS HE WALKS ALONG STREET SLOWLY, HANDS IN POCKETS. A few people stood around the main street watching us. Mainly farmers in town for the lunch hour dressed in the stereotypical blue jean bib overalls that you think you only see in the movies. Little kids transfixed by the gaily colored stranger who waltzed by them. No wonder kids used to run off and join the circus. They were transfixed in a way that made them get off their bikes and lay them down on the sidewalks with a clatter as they were on their way to the park or baseball diamond. they were the little tow head who had waved, his hands moving in an outsized bright red hand me down t-shirt, the boy who leaned over his bicycle bars trying to look like James Dean on a motorcycle as though he were disinterested and unaffected by all of this, the little girl in a green dress flanked by two boys and as she watched us pass, she dragged the boys with her in a tight grasp. A few hands extended from the cabs of the passing trucks and flicked up a palm of welcome while some just flicked cigarette ash listlessly in our direction. ¶ 7:34 AM
