BASS PLAYER – (always tuning the same string throughout)
(not looking up)
Go away.
<beat>
What? Go away.
<Beat>
What, a chick. Fuck No! A toy?
(Stops tuning for a moment)
I don’t need a toy. I do this. This note. Watch.
(plucks, listens, winces, goes back to tuning)
Almost. Almost, you hear that? No, you don’t, nobody hears it but me, that’s the tragedy of this job. I’m the only guy who can hear how wrong this is, and I’ve been the only guy since Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday. Doesn’t matter. Same thing.
(adjusts the peg, a hair, obsessive, but more obvious this time.)
You want to know what focus is? Focus is this. It’s not some monk on a mountain, it’s a man on a milk crate. If he stops. if he looks up. if he even lets one sad bastard asking about his toy break the thread….
<beat>
He’s got to start completely over. From zero. Every time. Nobody tells you about it.
It resets. forever.
(finally glances up, cold)
You’re doing the same thing walking around, head down, gutter to gutter, like the chick’s gonna turn up if you just want it hard enough. That’s not searching, that’s praying with your legs. Same church. Different flavor of stupid.
(back to the tuning)
I’m not gonna find the note. I’ve known it since string two. You’re not gonna find your little piece of shit either. Some kid’s already opened it up to see the gears. That’s the whole thing. Over. Done, and yours will be right along with it. It’s always in a way you’re not ready to hear.
(plucks. Same wrong note. Doesn’t flinch.)
Go on. Go be lonely somewhere else.
I’m busy being lonely here.
(back to tuning.)
A Monologue
