You know what that means,
Long showers.
Tart lemons.
Salt on shoulders.
Medium amounts of pressure.
Steaks up to my waist.
And a lot of hair on the bed.
We all have to work.
There is one class left. One class. One lone little class. You know how there's always that one class. Guess which one this is. I'll tell you. Playwriting. Yeah, I couldn't get out of it. But, lord knows I tried. So, myself and two other students meet at my teacher's apartment every Wednesday. And we talk about a famous as balls play sack. Each week it's a different one. This week was Hamlet. Hamlet. How does this happen? That takes about an hour and a half. Then we read our dumb little scenes. You know, the prompt is like, A wants to get something from B, but A wont say what it is. Heaven help us.
It's OK. The teacher's actually a peach. And by August we're supposed to have a ten minute staged reading kind of thing. Maybe I'll get back to that solo show.
Stretch Pants,
Skin and Toast
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