Enconters

[A darkened alley, a dim light shines on MARK, an Irish immigrant,
heavy Dublin accent, upstage right. He's wearing a trilby hat.
Slow Jazz is being played in the background along with the sounds
of traffic (Police cars, ambulances etc.)]
MARK (walking slowly, heavily to downstage centre) (New York accent,
brief pause, then slowly) Ah yes, Fall. The leaves turn to a
weak brown crisp and crumble away one, by, one. Winter. The sharp
rains wash away the leaves and the ground freezes over. Spring.
The finches fly home and flowers begin to blossom. Summer. The sun
is in the sky and the trees are a lush green. Fall. The whole damn
thing starts again. It just keeps going round and round like the
wheels of a bicycle. I'm sick of it all, the leaves, the rain, the
finches, the sun. There's a bite in the air tonight, like poison,
like a snake, coiling round the alley ways, creeping out of the
drain pipes. I can feel it's teeth slide into my neck, gracile.
The cold air burns my eyes. This city is a mess, and so is everyone
in it. Including me. I roam the streets from dusk, taking the
law into my own hands for the benefit of others. Suspicious widows,
paranoid boyfriends, crooked cops. Oh my, yes, as I said,
everyone in this city is a mess. Pennies from Heaven, that's the
kind of money I make (MARK pauses, makes eye contact with some of
the audience, mumbles, takes a step back) Pennies from Heaven ...
( takes a step forward, coughs) [beat] Pennies ... from. .. Mm. ( deep inhale,
deep exhale, Irish accent) Feck it, this play's shite anyway
... Alright just cut out the music, just, just feck it alright?
[The lights come on, the sound effects cuts out, as MARK takes off
his hat, drops said clothes on floor, begins to exit upstage left
relaxed, quietly, without a care. At the point where MARK is
about exit the stage LUCY jumps out and starts pushing him back to
downstage centre.]
MARK Lucy? Lucy!? What do ya think yer doin'?