Midnight at the 24-Hour Mart
Characters:
CASEY: A cashier who has seen too many energy drinks.
THE LURKER: A person in a heavy trench coat and sunglasses (at 3:00 AM).
MRS. GABLE: An elderly woman buying exactly one lemon.
Setting: A fluorescent-lit grocery store. The hum of the freezer is deafening.
(CASEY is scanning a single lemon for MRS. GABLE. THE LURKER stands precisely six feet behind her, unmoving.)
CASEY: That’ll be sixty cents, Mrs. Gable.
MRS. GABLE: (Digging through a coin purse) Hold on, dear. I have a coupon for a citrus-based life event.
CASEY: (Glancing at THE LURKER) Ma'am, it’s three in the morning. I think the coupons expired in 1994.
THE LURKER: (Voice like gravel) The lemon. Is it organic?
MRS. GABLE: It’s yellow, young man. Don't be pushy.
THE LURKER: (Leans in, whispering to CASEY) I need the "Special Stock." The stuff in the back. The milk that doesn't spoil.
CASEY: You mean the powdered stuff? Aisle four. Near the despair.
THE LURKER: No. The Blue Milk. The kind they harvest from the moon cows.
CASEY: (Sighs, hitting the intercom) "Cleanup on aisle nine. We have another one from the 5th Dimension."
(The lights flicker. MRS. GABLE finds a nickel.)
MRS. GABLE: Here we are! Now, does this come with a bag, or do I have to carry my sins out in the open?
[BLACKOUT]
The Ballad of the Bored Barista (A Musical Without Music)
Characters:
JULES: A barista with a guitar he isn't allowed to play.
CHORUS OF CUSTOMERS: People holding phones.
Setting: A trendy coffee shop.
JULES: (Spoken rhythmically)
The steam wand hisses like a pit of snakes,
I’m drowning in the foam that a latte makes.
You want it "extra hot"? You want it "iced and thin"?
I’m losing my religion in a compost bin!
CHORUS: (In monotone unison)
Our names are spelled wrong on the plastic cup,
The WiFi is slow, can you hurry it up?
Is there cinnamon? Is there nutmeg? Is there grace?
We need the caffeine to survive this place!
JULES: (Steps onto the counter, gesturing wildly)
Oh! I dream of a mountain where the beans grow wild,
Where the espresso is bold and the weather is mild!
But here I stand, in a green-apron shroud,
Yelling "Caramel Macchiato!" to a faceless crowd!
CHORUS: (Tapping their watches)
Five minutes late!
The meeting won't wait!
The bitter bean destiny!
The sugar-free fate!
JULES: (Slumping back down)
...That’ll be seven dollars.
[BLACKOUT]
The Appraisal of the Ex-Wife’s "Art"
Characters:
ARTHUR: A man trying to sell a "sculpture."
MUSEUM CURATOR: A woman with glasses so thin they are invisible.
Setting: A high-end art gallery. On a pedestal sits a pile of rusted bicycle chains and a half-eaten sandwich.
CURATOR: (Circling the object) It’s... aggressive. The way the ham interacts with the industrial decay.
ARTHUR: My ex-wife called it "Tuesday." I call it "The Reason We’re Divorced." I’m hoping for ten grand.
CURATOR: Note the mold. It’s a living metaphor for a decaying social contract. Is the mustard Grey Poupon or store brand?
ARTHUR: I think it’s just yellow. From the fridge.
CURATOR: (Gasps) "The Common Man’s Condiment." How daring. It’s a critique of the bourgeois appetite!
ARTHUR: Really? I thought she just forgot to finish her lunch before she threw my bike in the trash.
CURATOR: (Writing a check) We’ll take it. But the sandwich must be replaced every three days to maintain the "freshness of the trauma."
ARTHUR: I have a whole fridge of trauma. I’ll be in touch.
[BLACKOUT
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