--From the play Death by Drowning--
Abby and I went to the flea market once. Well, we went lots of times, but this one time . . . we were standing next to the fruit cart—you know—there’s one at every flea market—the guy with the dirty knit cap pulled over his eyes, with oil stained hands, shoving brown fruit he swears came from Singapore in your face? Heaven only knows why we stopped there. I guess we were looking across the aisle at some sort of . . . knife booth, I think. Abby has this fascination with knifes, it’s very strange. But we were standing there, and this kid came running up from behind us. He was hiding from his mom or something, I think. But he hit the fruit cart—didn’t knock it over, but almost. I turned around just in time to give a warm welcome to flying . . . stuff. Abby, with all her luck, was shielded by my body, but I had a murky grey fruit which smelled like it might have been a tomato once meet my eye, and two mold covered mangos introduced themselves to my thigh. As I stood there, covered in . . . gunk . . . Abby looked at me, and with her usual loving-kindness remarked: “You’d look good in a dumpster.”
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