A kitchen at night. LUNA, in drag but only underwear, astride a churning washing machine.
HOWARD, rumpled, enters.
|HOWARD:||What you doing?|
|LUNA:||I’m looking at the moon.|
|It’s so sad that no woman’s ever been to the moon.|
|And obviously no one in our line.|
|HOWARD:||You’re washing your clothes.|
|LUNA:||The machine is washing my clothes. I’m looking at the moon.|
|HOWARD:||It’s two o’clock in the morning.|
|I’m trying to sleep.|
|LUNA:||I’d recommend lying down for starters.|
|HOWARD:||I can’t be round you like this.|
LUNA abruptly switches machine off.
|HOWARD:||&&&||(Off) Thank you.|
Retrieves a bloodstained dress.
- The Stick House: Subterranean Fairy Tales. Sharon Clark on Raucous' new promenade piece and building worlds beneath the streets of Bristol.
- Post-Capitalist Theatre: a thought experiment. Is modern theatre trapped by oppositional politics?
- Edinburgh Fringe 2015: A Farewell Song. Before reality kicks in, a poetic parting of the ways with this year's Edinburgh Fringe.