Monologue accompanied by acoustic guitar playing a slow tune that gives a sense of nostalgia and reminiscence...

Joe
Somewhere in the world there’s a lonely Romeo
bleeding from the heart, searching for his star-crossed love.
On some farm in the Midwest a young girl
is looking for her lost kitten, caught up in a tree
or possibly run down by the local Ginsu restaurant.
And in a mall somewhere, probably Sacramento,
an old man in plaid pants of blue and green
paces across the top floor, searching for his senile wife
who said she would only be in Wicks ‘N’ Sticks
for a moment. It’s times like these
that I stop and wonder...
whatever happened to Quentin Tarantino?
I sometimes find myself lying awake at night,
dreaming of that masculine chin that protrudes
almost as far as his forgotten talent.
Those dark set puppy dog eyes to match a soft,
quivering voice that really screams out,
“I’m a misunderstood creature.”
Debuting his short career with Reservoir Dogs...
has the reservoir run dry? He landed so swiftly
in the lap of fame with Pulp Fiction,
but there is no fiction in my love for him.
I searched all Four Rooms, but could not find him in any.
And when worse turned to worse...
when push came to shove, I became a one man
search party and even put his picture on a milk carton.
It read, “Quentin Tarantino: missing since Jackie Brown”
Perhaps he’s still taking acting lessons
to maintain a low profile,
hiding in the shadows of Forrest Gump.
But maybe... just maybe
he’s polishing off the screenplay
to his masterpiece, waiting for us all
to recognize his ingenuity.

Guitar fades as speaker drops to his knees looking up with arms outstretched.

Joe
Quentin! Where are you?!?!?!

Music suddenly starts up again

Joe
But the sad truth finally came, only to counter
my most hopeful of all optimism’s,
when I saw him at a gas station in Denver, Colorado.
He was sporting a black leather jacket
and a five o’clock shadow,
purchasing two beef sticks and five dollars’
worth of gas just before our eyes met,
and I could see that he knew...
he knew that I knew.
He knew that I knew that he knew that I knew who he was.
And with a face full of shame he hung his head
and walked out of my life forever.
(pause)
I cried on the way home.
And every year on August 12, I raise a glass
to that fateful night that would change
the way I lived forever, for I finally found out
the truth to the one answer I never knew
I didn’t want to know.
(pause)
But it wasn’t really him.
It looked like him, though. Poor guy.
I mean, who wants to hire a Quentin Tarantino
lookalike? Nobody. Not even Quentin Tarantino.
(raising glass)
So drift on, Quentin,
and don’t you dare look back at this
“indy” film worshipping world of disrespect.
Forgive us father! We know not what we’ve lost.
You were just another misunderstood genius
in a world of Judas Romeo’s and pop-culture critics.
So save me a cloud my friend, and maybe you, me,
Elvis, and all of Charlie’s Angels can play
a quick round of the Welcome Back Kotter
board game in that rock ‘n’ roll
spaghetti western in the sky.