Bullets Over Broadway Part III

ACT THE THIRD

(TFP is on stage playing ‘Love and Wonder’ for the second time – as requested by a cute young woman who is dancing down front like she’s trying to shake the demons out. Some old friends from Boston sit at the bar, enjoying the show and talking to a some pretty ladies from Connecticuit. Pixus sleeps beside the bar.)

Annie: It IS big, isn’t it.

Nikki: I wonder whose is bigger.

Shawn: Ask them.

Andrea: It’s hard to tell from this angle.

Jeremy: I’m going to play the Star Wars pinball machine again.

Shawn: I’ll come with you.

Andrea: Is it me, or is Mick’s shaped like a Rhombus?

Annie: I was JUST thinking that.

Nikki: Alex’s looks like a f#*$!ing silo!

Annie: You can see that even in the dark?

Nikki: I have good night vision for that sort of thing.

Andrea: What about J.D.?

Annie: Tough to say with any certainty. There’s a lot of hair there.

Pixus: Are you talking about those melon-heads up there?

Nikki: Yes.Pixus: There’s a lot of skull on that stage tonight. Looks like abunch of candy apples with guitars and drums. Or scarecrows searching a pumpkin patch for new heads. Atleast they don’t suck. They asked me to jam with them but it’s not really my thing.

Andrea: What do you play?

Pixus: Keys. Maybe I could do one…(He stops suddenly and begins to sniff rapidly).Do you guys smell that?

Annie: Smell what?

Pixus: Dwarf!

(At this point, Pixus leaps on stage and knocks J.D. out of the way. The band grinds to a halt.)

Pixus: We have a situation everyone. I smell a dwarf about twoblocks away.

Patron # 1: No!

Pixus: I’m afraid so.

Patron # 2: When will they learn?

Pixus: I don’t know. But until they do, we take care of business. What do we do with little people?

Angry Mob: Stuff them! Hang them!

Pixus: Right! Light the torches, grab the tranq guns and let’s roll.(There is a roar of assent from the crowd and the nearly full bar empties in less than ten seconds as the mob follows Pixus into the night. The Free Press take a moment to absorb and then quietly begin to dismantle the set-up. Alex begins to speak but as he inhales, he comes to the realization that words are probably inadequate. As TFP continue to put their things away, the old man comes in and pours himself a beer.)

Old Man: Hey!

(Curtain).

Actual band photo of The Free Press.

Authors note: Ok, maybe that’s not exactly how the night played out but if Hunter S. Thompson taught us anything, it’s that gonzo journalism is impossible. We record the events as best we can remember them, but there is invariably some details that are stretched or warped to benefit the story. I have certainly used hyperbole in a few places. The old man really didn’t look that much like Einstein.