Dramatis Personae:
A
B
C
X
Y
Z

All: It's 5 pm, and we're on the subway in New York City.

A blows on her nails, waiting for them to dry. B stands bored. C touches bruises on her face repeatedly. X is a drunken homeless man, waving a cup back and forth. Y is a businessman. Z is in street clothing and has a large bag. Z is immobile throughout most of the play.

A: I just can't wait to get home! I have a date tonight with the most popular boy in my class. He's so sweet and sometimes

C: he used to bring me flowers. When we first started dating. I thought he was wonderful, a living, breathing doll. He never showed any signs that

Y: he was going to sign with me, but I landed the Anderson account, all the same. My wife says I'm a workaholic, but how does she think I pay for all of her new dresses and the cable TV and the internet? Honestly, sometimes she just has no sense of

B: perspective. Art is all about perspective. Even color takes a backseat to the magic of perspective. It's what makes a painting believable. It makes you look at it, really look at it and think, "wow, that's great." It is extremely important

C: that I have the dinner on the table on time every night; and it has to be something he likes, or he gets angry. One night, I fixed pork chops, the way my mother always made them. He hated them; he spat the first bite out onto the plate and knocked me out of my chair onto the floor. Didn't say a word, just knocked me down, got a beer, and went into the living room to watch TV. If I had known that

Y: things would be so expensive I would have been a doctor instead. Do you know how much a doctor makes? A lot more than a salesman, I'll tell you that! There are times when I've been afraid I couldn't make ends meet on my salary--and commission, what a joke! I mean, I ask you--is there anyone, anywhere

X: who has a quarter? Can anyone spare a quarter? I have a job lined up a couple of towns over and I need to call my nephew and tell him

A: that I just can't believe that he lettered in varsity basketball! I'm so proud of him! I mean, he's only a junior, and he's kind of short, but he's so very

B: masterful when it comes to painting. In my opinion, van Gogh was the very best. Looking at his paintings send me into an absolute rapture. I mean, just the way he used color--he was so bold, so ingenious, so

X: hungry. Could anyone buy me a sandwich? I haven't eaten in days.

Y: Here you are.

X: Thank you, kind sir.

Y: Not that I can afford it. I'm already spending more than I make! I wonder if such a donation is tax deductible. I wonder if I

A: should wear my blue sweater or my green one. I look better in blue, but the green sweater fits my figure better. I think Jimmy likes green. I wonder if the green shirt is even clean. The green does kind of highlight

B: the shadows with a bolder color. It makes all the difference in the world when it comes to painting--the intensity of color. Like in Night Cafe, when he used those somber yellows throughout for light, and didn't just suggest at the light--it was there, filling the painting. He used a lot of blue, as well. I adore van Gogh. I'm on my way to see a special late exhibit--I heard the Starry Night was going to be there. I've always wanted to see

A: a palm reader. Jimmy went to one of those and she said the lady knew all about him! It was sooo weird--she knew he played basketball, and that he was going to win the district championship! My mother said

C: that I shouldn't marry him. That he was no good. But I didn't listen to her. And now look where I am--stuck

Y: in a dead in job with almost no benefits. My boss is always on my back, my coworkers are all unhappy. Sometimes, I just wonder if I should

C: leave him. But I can't--what would I do? I never went to college. I don't know how to do anything to support myself. I'm helpless, helpless and

X: out of work. Please, anyone--I'm not asking for a handout, just for a little help. You never met anyone who needed as much help as I do. Just a few dollars, dimes, pennies. I have no family, I have nobody

A: that I adore as much as Jimmy. Oh, he's so adorable! And he's smart, too--he makes all A's! I wish I could do that. I probably could, but my teachers don't like me so well. I always

B: drop acid before I paint. It gives my work a surreal quality that I could never get otherwise--reminiscent of the great van Gogh. All of those blurred lines that just seem to blend better than the real world. That's the only time I do it though--I swear. I'd never do it if it wasn't good for my art--it's a matter of

Y: business. We don't make a unique product--no wonder nobody wants it! My position is head of sales. It's a miracle I make any kind of salary at all--we can't sell anything!! If I had done what

C: Mother thought I should do, I never would have married him. But . . . he intoxicated me. Long, dark nights on his parents' farm--

X: Anyone

C: --the smell of smell of freshly cut grass, and of--

X: spare a

C: --honeysuckle--

X: quarter?

C: --and the moon making everything shimmery silver. It was enchanting . . . I thought it would always be that way. I never thought

Y: I would become a businessman, until I got older. When I was young, I wanted to be a secret agent--like in Get Smart ! But my father

C: cried the day he had to give me away. He said

Y: there was no way to make it being a secret agent. Well, of course I knew that. So I

B: use a lot of dark colors. My art expresses my innermost feelings, and its all dark inside. I use a lot of black, a lot of blue. I'm a walking, talking tragedy, and its obvious if you look at my paintings. I don't really care if all of those stuffed shirts who never picked up a paintbrush in their lives don't like it--I think it just scares them because they know that, somewhere inside, their souls are black, too. A lot of people

A: say that Jimmy isn't any good. They say he drinks, and that he likes to pause get a little... fresh... with the girls. I think they're just jealous. I mean, after all, not everyone

B: has my appreciation of art. What they call dismal, I call

C: my friend back in Nebraska a lot. I miss her, I have ever since Mark decided to move us to this drag of a city. It's a shame that

B: people don't have the sense to appreciate art when they see it. I mean, look at Gericault's stuff--its much more morbid and despairing, and he's famous, and considered "artworthy."

X: A quarter? A nickel? A dime?

B: I always wonder if any of the "greats" used drugs to enhance their art . . . like Monet, or van Gogh. If you look at some of their paintings, it's hard to believe that they didn't. Just look at van Gogh. He must have been on a bad trip when he painted that picture of the skeleton smoking a cigarette. I just wonder

A: if he's going to try anything with me, the way all the girls say that he always does. Jimmy just seems so much nicer than that. I mean, he's perfect. Well, almost perfect. He's always in church with his family, and he's so smart--I can't imagine he'd ever

C: beat me. I never thought he'd do that--I completely ignored the warning signs. The outbursts of temper, the clenched fists, breaking things . . . until one day he just

Y: sat me down and told me that I was going to be a businessman, that he was paying for my college and I was good and well

C: going to give up my job in Nebraska and go to New York with him. I argued with him and he got angrier and angrier . . . his face was red, the color

B: of a ripe sunset . . . a sunset with angry black clouds menacing the horizon. Now, that would be a painting. It would literally be like hell on earth. I've always wanted to try writing poetry, too. It can't be too much more difficult than painting. The only difference is that you use words to construct your mental image, rather than paint. I just don't know if I could

A: let him kiss me if he wanted to. I mean, it would only be our first date, and that's just a little too forward for me. Maybe he'd settle for a hug, or a peck on the cheek. I just don't think I'm ready

C: to leave him. It's too big of a step. I mean, he's never let me get a job here--I don't have any money to go. I can't take his money, he guards it too well. Besides, I owe it to him to give it another try--he does love me. I think he really

Y: just wanted me to be successful. I mean, every father wants to see his son grow up to be better than him. I never could have made it as a secret agent, anyway, I know that--I'm not stupid. I don't even think they really exist in the real world--the closest thing would be the CIA or the FBI. I would have liked to, but

B: I'm not sure if I'd be very good at it. I don't know if I know enough words to be able to describe the amazing images I see in my head. They say that a picture is worth a thousand words--one brush stroke must be so much more powerful than a word. It's so much more

A: complicated than being a kid. I never thought that being in high school

Y: would be the end of my life. I really haven't lived since

C: I married. Ever since then I've been

B: drifting, a starving artist. No steady work, no steady income, no

X: money, anyone? Anyone spare a

X,A,Y,C,B: quarter?

A: Oh my, I hope I can get home in time to shower before Jimmy comes to pick me up. I feel so dirty from riding on this subway. I hardly ever ride, unless I absolutely need to; the subway is just so

B: cultural. There are so many people, so many different people; each one a work of art in and of themselves. I truly feel alive when I am riding the subway, it's a great place

C: to hide from my husband. I always tell him I'm at my friend Janice's house, but I don't go there; I come and ride the subway instead, to

Y: save money. Taxis cost entirely too much, and we have to save for payments on all of our stuff, and rent, and insurance, and groceries. Honestly, sometimes I just don't see the point

A: of "going steady." Someone told me that Jimmy was going to ask me, but I don't see why I should tie myself down so young. It's stupid--nobody ever makes it out of high school unless they get pregnant or something. I'm not going to get pregnant, so why make myself unavailable? There are lots of guys at school that I like, and he's a nice guy, but he seems a little

C: possessive. He treats me like a piece of property. I can't seem to

Y: find anything that pays better, even with my

B: great talent. If people could just appreciate

Y: an honest dollar; she wants me to buy her new cars every few years, and I just can't afford

C: to stay with him much longer, he

A: is the most popular boy in our school next to the quarterback; I'm nervous

C: that one day he's going to hit me hard enough to put me in the

Y: poorhouse. I swear, the more I

C: try the harder

B: it becomes to get recognition

A: for dating the most popular boy--

X: spare a quarter?

A: --in the entire school

Y: I work so hard

B: try so hard

C: pray so hard

X: spare a quarter?

A,B,C,X,Y: I just can't take it anymore!

A shot is fired. A shocked silence.

Z: Stop your whining!

Y: Excuse me?

A: Mister, what's up with the gun?

Z: Just shut up! Everyone!

X: Spare a--

Z: Shut up!! shoots X. X crumbles to the ground.

Y: Wh-why did you shoot him?

B: Really, you psycho freak!

Z: You call me a freak?

B: You're the one waving the gun around.

Z: Just--let me explain it to you all.

B: Please do.

Z: I ride this subway every day. I get on at four forty-five and ride until five thirty. And every single day, I have to listen to this--this drivel, this garbled, asinine tale of woe, and I am sick of it!

A: You could just ride another car or something.

B: Yeah, really. Who asked you what you think?

Z: Who asked you to tell me about your depressing, sorrowful life, Ms. Artist? I've been riding this car since before you were born--why should I have to leave? And hey, if you're that bummed out about your life, I'll just shoot you and put you out of your misery!

A: You don't have to be so uptight over it. Just because we annoy you doesn't mean you have to shoot us or anything.

Z: You ought to be shot anyway; your life is pathetic--all you do is moon over some boy that's on the basketball team. There is great tragedy all over the world, and you think someone cares about your damn boyfriend.

A: sulky He's not my boyfriend, we're just talking.

Z: Do you hear yourself? Do you hear what's running out of your mouth??

C: Leave her alone.

Z: Don't tell me what to do--you can't even take your own advice, why should I? Besides, you're just stupid if you stay with a wife-beating, alcoholic mongrel like your husband.

Y: Um . . . this is my stop.

Z: You're not going anywhere! You don't even like to go home. All you do is complain about your greedy wife and your spoiled kids. Why don't you just divorce her and spend the money in a strip club? You'll get a better value for your dollar--I've seen the size twenty-two dresses you buy for her.

Y: Don't you talk about my wife that way! I love my wife.

Z: Well, it sure is hard to tell.

B: Why are you so god-almighty concerned with our lives?

Y: Yeah--don't you have a life of your own?

Z: Yes, I have a life of my own--and my life is a lot worse than some of yours, I'll tell you that!

A: Well, let's hear it then.

Z: Huh?

C: Tell us how your life is so much worse than ours.

Z: on the spot I--well, I . . .

B: Come on, tell us, big man.

Z: Do you really want to know?

A: Yeah, we really wanna know.

Z: Well, I suppose the bad stuff started happening when my parents died in the car wreck.

C: When was that?

Z: On the way home from the hospital when I was born.

Y: Why didn't you die?

Z: Oh, I wasn't in the car. My grandmother had taken me to her apartment.

A: Well, that was lucky.

Z: No it wasn't. She had kidnapped me--my dad caused the car wreck when he turned the car onto oncoming traffic. They didn't know where I was, and they were heartbroken.

A: Oh.

Z: I think the next tragic thing happened to me when I was four. I wasn't living with my grandmother anymore; she had been discovered and I'd been passed from foster home to foster home. I ended up with a man who had a criminal history of being a murderer twenty years prior in another state. He threw a party for me when I turned four, and he tried to drown me while I was bobbing for apples.

Y: They didn't check the guy's criminal record?

Z: Hardly. People were always glad to be rid of me--I took bad luck wherever I went.

B: I am still not impressed.

Z: Let's see... when I was six, I was attacked on the way to school.

B: mockingly Another murderer?

Z: No, a rabid dog. Pulls up sleeve I still have the scars.

A: Yuck.

B: Boo hoo, you were attacked by a dog. That happens a lot to kids, they get over it.

Z: Well, the attack left me blind in one eye. See, I have a glass eye because the other one was so horribly mangled.

B: God, get that away from me.

Z: Then, when I was twelve--

B: Okay, okay, enough. I think we all agree that your life sucks.

A, Y, and C murmur agreement.

B: That still doesn't give you the right to come in here and shoot someone.

Z: I didn't mean to shoot him, I was just a little trigger happy. He was an old drunk, anyway.

B: Oh, and that makes it okay?

Z: Shut up, Ms. Morbid. I was just--tired of the whining. I'm not trying to make excuses.

B: Aren't you?

Z: No! At least, not more than any of the rest of you. I mean, for God's sake, if you want to kiss that boy then kiss him. It's not like you have forever to decide if you want to or not. And lady, if your husband beats you, then leave him. There are all kinds of shelters around the city for abused women, and they will take care of you--if you're still there, its because you want to be, and not because you can't leave. And you--if your wife is so greedy, lay down the law. Don't let her spend all of your money. You earn it, you set the limits. Be a man, good grief. And as for you--if you want to write poetry, pick up a damn pen. And use pastels once in awhile, for crying out loud. And stop living in your artist's world one day and experience the real world. It won't kill you to be happy--it won't kill any of you.

Y: Happy?

C: musing Happy...

B: sullen happy.

Z: decisively Happy.

A: Can we go now, Mister?

Z: Sure . . . go ahead, I guess.

A: What are we going to do about him?

Y: Let's just leave him--say, does anyone want to go out for pizza? Kind of celebrate?

A,C, B: Sure.

Z: Am I invited?

Y: Uh, taking the gun as long as I can take this.

All exit but X. X stands up and examines his body and, finding no wound, staggers offstage mumbling about sparing quarters.