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Widows and Orphans

My head is an open suitcase. God Father State falls out, but doesn’t break because He’s tough as old boots

Ali: I walked back through the park, there are people dancing there. All I usually see in the park is wanking tramps, and now there are people dancing and waving flags.

Buchs: Punks?

Ali: People like you and me.

Buchs: Partying?

Ali: Protesting.

Buchs: Against what?

Ali: That guy getting shot.

Buchs: They’re so stupid.

Ali: Why?

Buchs: Did you dance too?

Ali: I stood there with them, trying to work out what was going on. I’m always so tired from the driving, I can’t stay on my legs for long.

Buchs: You look tired.

Ali: After long distances, it’s like I have to learn to walk all over again.

Buchs: Sailors always long to go back on board ship because their legs can’t cope with being on firm ground.

Ali: Maybe they just don’t want to go home.

Buchs: Do you get that too?

Ali: The sailor thing?

Buchs: Is it a head thing?

Ali: Course it’s a head thing. Isn’t it with you?

Buchs: Everything’s just fine with me, actually.

Ali: Would you have danced in the park?

Buchs: Why would I have done that?

Ali: I’d have thought if anyone, then you.

Buchs: If anyone, then me.

Ali: I just thought—

(Buchs makes a move to go)

Ali: No?

Buchs: Because it could have been me, you mean? Is that why you want me to go and dance for joy?

Ali: No, it’s not that—

Buchs: I’m staying here.

Ali: I didn’t mean anything bad.

Buchs: People riot because they’re bored. I’m satisfied with my life.

Ali: Is that a head thing?

Buchs: It’s a fact.

Ali: Is your life that thrilling?

Buchs: If I get caught chucking stones, I’ll be chucked out of the country and you’ll get a page in the papers with your portrait. Thrilling for you, I’m sure.


Tr. Imogen Taylor