FATHER: Hungry? Not Hungry? Alive?
(No response. He gives up and turns to the audience.)
I was at the kitchen table. Looking at all the stuff we'd accumulated over the years. Mounds of —! Piles of —! I could hardly find the darned sink and get a drink of water. (Pause.) At some point you have to make a decision and take control of your life. So that's what I did. I decided to get rid of it all, everything I owned, and live off the land.
DAN: Which was hard to do, 'cause we live in a city.
FATHER: Good Point. That started me thinking. (He scratches his chin.) I love thinking. (He scratches some more.) I came up with an inspired solution: urban resource reclamation.
DAN: (Leading question.) What's that, in layman's terms?
FATHER: You subsist on stuff people throw away.
DAN: Which means?
FATHER: You climb into metal containers and wade around till you — till you — Fine. Have it your way.
DAN: (Together.) Dumpster diving.
FATHER: (Together.) Dumpster diving.
DAN: Dad didn't stop there. He got rid of our furniture and quit his job, but we still had our apartment. Till one day he came home and said —
FATHER: I fell asleep behind the A&P on an egg crate. Best sleep I've had in years. (He scratches his chin.) Hmmm.
DAN: Please! No more thinking!
FATHER: I passed my old partner on his way to the office. He was hunched over, weighed down by all the things he had to maintain. I got a better night's sleep than he had. What other proof do we need? I'll give the keys to the first person I see. Ha ha! Can't wait to see the expression on their face!
DAN: Wait! What about my books and clothes and — and stuff?
FATHER: You'll find better stuff out there.
DAN: Mom would never let you get away with this!
FATHER: Dan! (A flash of anger.) It's you and me now, all right? Trust me. You'll feel better once we're out of here.
(DAN huffs. His FATHER reclines in his Dumpster with a book.)
DAN: (To the audience.) After a few weeks, Dad began to change. He stopped drinking. His hygiene improved.
FATHER: That makes one of us.
DAN: He read five books a week. We had the best conversations. There was even talk of him entering the Boston Marathon. As for me, it took a while to get the hang of it.
(DAN climbs up on a milk crate outside the Dumpster. His FATHER stands inside and spots him.)
FATHER: Come on, Dano.
DAN: What if something's sharp?
FATHER: I checked.
DAN: What if something's moving?
FATHER: I checked. I'm here. Nothing will happen to you.
(DAN jumps in. He goes through the trash, and finds a ray gun.)
DAN: It's in mint condition!
FATHER: (Laughing.) I'm right! God, I love being right! You know, Dan, we're defying history. Returning to man's original glorious state. We'll forage a few hours a day, then have time to engage in higher activities. Culture. Poetry. Family values.
(FATHER reads. DAN plays nearby. To the audience.)
DAN: I don't know how I kept it a secret at school. (Beat.) Yes I do. I have no friends. Actually, I have two, but they aren't let's-hang-out-at-your-house-I-want-to-know-you kind of friends. It was pretty good, while it lasted . . .
