A monologue from the play by Dominique Morisseau
FAYE (fifties, African American)
If Reggie find out what? Reggie ain’t finding out nothin’. Reggie ain’t finding out about my clothes lain around or me being here when ya’ll arrived this morning.
Reggie ain’t finding out about me gambling on the premises. And Reggie ain’t findin’ out about that gun you keep in your locker. Right?
Reggie ain’t findin’ nothin’ out. I know everything about this place, Dez. The walls talk to me. The dust on the floors write me messages.
I’m in the vents. I’m in the bulletin boards. I’m in the chipped paint. Ain’t nobody can slip through the cracks past me up in here.
I can see through lockers. I know what you got in that bag you bring in here everyday. But I don’t expose it. Cuz everybody got they bag of sh*t.
You got yours. And I got mine. Leave me to my own stink and don’t go tryin’ to air me out. Worry ‘bout that car need fixin’.
Worry ‘bout that darkness out there that make you afraid to coast without that metal. But don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m just fine.
