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A monologue from the play by C.S. Hanson
Birdie Combs is talking to Pinky Walker, an 18-year-old chunky male dressed as a glamour girl in tight dress and stiletto heels for Halloween.
They are in a sparsely furnished room in a nursing room. Birdie is there to visit her grandmother. When the grandmother called Birdie “a b*tch,” Birdie choked her.
Pinky, an aide, has walked in and called the cops. Pinky and Birdie wait for the cops to arrive.
And then she looks right at me and calls me a “b*tch.” I come here every week to visit her and she calls me a—? I mean, it’s just, I didn’t need
Don’t go to parties anymore. Go to school every day. And after that I’m working cash register in the grocery store. Counting change for tight a**es
I love this, who throw those dumb magazines in their cart at the last minute, sorta cover ‘em up, like they’re too good to read National Enquirer.
Everybody reads crap. You know how I get my kicks? I squeeze lemons and make the sourest lemon-aid I can, so sour it’s hard to drink. But I drink
And I put Tabasco sauce in my coffee. Never see my old friends any more. There’s so much I . . . avoid. And she calls me a b*tch. I think you’re
You’re the high-maintenance b*tch. With your nails and painted face and hair and tight-a** way you dress. I used to dress like you.
Dress like I was having fun. Not anymore.