by Candi Bartlett | 11/26/2021
SCENE: - Garage. Night.
Microphones and musical equipment are scattered about. The garage hasn’t seen a car in a long time. It looks like it smells worse, somehow. Four friends gather around their instruments. A dirty plaid couch is covered with coats. A coffee table is buried under cups and take out boxes.
At CURTAIN rise, all members are preparing to play. GRAPE’s arms are in the air, drumsticks in hands.
GRAPE. (cracks sticks together with each word). Two, three, four!
(The band jams for a couple minutes. It’s not bad. It’s not great.)
(The singer, STRAWBERRY, has a beautiful voice, but is obviously annoyed. It gets more obvious as they play. Floppy black hair, almost as black as their leather coat, drips with condensation.)
STRAWBERRY. (waves hands to stop the music) What the hell is that? (points at each band member) You are too fast, you are too slow, and you… (lands on guitarist) I don’t think you’re even playing the same tune.
(The guitarist scoffs. BLUEBERRY has obviously heard this before.)
You’re too loose. Always have been. I need a jam that holds together. Something I can build with.
BLUEBERRY. I am playing exactly what I’m supposed to. (brushes back sandy blonde hair) Have you considered, bro, that you’re the problem?
GRAPE. (visibly upset) Can’t we just make it work? Remember that time I collaborated with peanut butter? No one thought it could happen, but it did. If we can just find our swirl…