Lights come up on a wastepaper basket in the middle of the stage. A figure lies next to it with a sheet of newspaper over his head. To the right, a casually dressed man sits on a chair, reading a newspaper. He takes careful notes of what he reads on a pad of yellow legal paper. He is through reading the first page. He crumples it up and throws it over his back in the direction of the wastepaper basket. This wakes the figure on the floor, who goes over to retrieve the paper, and places it in the trash can. He returns to his previous location. The reader is unhappy with both his notes and the page he is working on now, and crumples both of them up furiously and throws them over his back. The Retriever places both of the sheets in the trash. The reader returns to work, more intensely. Rips up another sheet, throws it. Scribbles, flips pages, tears another sheet into confetti and throws the pieces over his back. The retriever attempts to put all the debris in the trash. The reader now gives up on the case and, furious, methodically rips up every sheet of the pad and the newspaper, throwing them in turn at the Retriever. The retriever can't keep up. The reader turns, looks at the retriever, pauses for a fraction of a second, then cotinues ripping and throwing paper. The mound on the floor grows larger. The reader is finished, sees the mound on the floor, looks at the retriever, and the retriever finds a pink slip in the paper mountain. He holds the pink slip, looks at it, his head falls. Clutching the pink slip, he tries to pick up the rest of the paper, but the reader is gone. ------------------------------------------------------------------ O is sitting in a chair stage left, reading the paper. Pages of his newspaper are scattered over the set. T enters, sees papers, moves to pick them up. [In the remainder of this piece, T is responsible for picking up and throwing away any newspaper that O throws to the ground] T: Good morning. O: Morning. T: Reading about the game last night? Eagles lost big. O: Did they? [pause. T finished picking up the paper, looks for a place to put it. Puts the paper down, goes off stage. Brings back a huge trash can -- it's somewhat difficult for him to carry. Places it stage center.] T: [as he recollects his pile of paper to put it in the trash can] How about that weather, eh? Cold enough to freeze a cat out there. O: I haven't been out, yet. It's really that cold? T: Yeah. A guy I know died of exposure last night. That make it in the papers? O: Um. I don't think so. Obituaries? [He crumples up the page he is reading and throws it to the ground. Turns to obituaries] T: I don't think so. Someone's gotta call it in to the paper for them to list it, right? O: I think that's how it works. T: Yeah. I don't think he'll be in there. O: What's his name? T: Joe. I don't know his last name. O: [looking through columns] There's a Joe here -- investment banker. Wall Street. T: No, that's not him. [beat] I don't think you'll find him in there. O: Oh, well. [crumples up page, throws it to the ground] [turns back to his reading] [T picks up new page, puts it in trash can. Exits with trash can. Comes back with a mop.] T: Cold as hell out there. O: Oxymoron. T: [about to say something, stops. Starts mopping the stage.] O: [finishes page, again, throws it to the floor.] T: [stops mopping, fetches paper, goes outside to throw it away. Re-enters] Um... [O pays no attention. T coughs, quietly. Still no response] Sir? O: [sharply] I told you not to call me that. T: Sorry. [pause] O: Well, what is it? T: Well, um... O: Money? T: My landlord raised the rent* and... O: How many times do I have to tell you? I don't lend money. It's a matter of principle. T: Do you have any extra jobs... you know, that I could do? To earn some money? We need a place to stay... O: No. Principles are principles. Just because I can read doesn't mean I'm made of money, you know. T: Yes sir. It's just that... O: I'll talk to the landlord, ok? T: You'll find we've been very good tenants, sir*. Always paid the rent... O: Don't call me that. T: [beat] 50 dollars more a month. O: That's it. I've had it with these requests for money... T: Please, sir... O: No. I've tried to be fair; I've told you my principles. No lending money. If I gave money to all the... [stops himself] T: All the what? O: Nevermind. T: I know what you were going to say. O: I wasn't. T: I've got recourse, you know. O: Look, I've got my principles. Anti-discrimination is one of them. T: You insulted me. O: I did not! T: You called me a moron, too. O: An oxymoron. T: Same thing. This is America. We've got recourse. Just because we have no money* doesn't mean... O: I'm not a bigot. T: No. You don't think you are. O: I'm not. T: Every paper you drop, every mess you leave for someone else to clean up... O: It's your job. T: The immigrants working for peanuts who have no choice.... O: They need the work. T: The black man, suspected unjustly of theft; the homeless pushed off your lawns; the casual disregard of anyone with less power than yourself... O: It's not me! I don't do that. That's America. T: Unjustice persecutes justice... O: I'm not unjust! I'm just an American. You can't blame me for who I am, I don't have a choice... T: The powerful powerless. O: I'm not powerful. I just live my life in peace, doing the best I can -- all these things are done by other people. T: You do them yourself. O: Look, I don't have to listen to this, this -- Marxist garbage. You can't blame me for the poverty of every homeless child. T: My daughter won't have a home on her birthday. O: So that's what this is all about. Listen: I'm got my morals, my principles. You can't force me to change by spouting a lot of nonsense about social responsibility and class struggle. I told you before, and I'll stick by my principles. This is America. You have to fend for yourself. I'm not going to give you money. No raise, no work -- you're on your own. Survival of the fittest. T: I'm not fit, is that it? O: Look -- in a purely intellectual way, I'm here where I am, with what I've got, because I worked hard, studied, and succeeded. You didn't. T: And you claim not to be a bigot. [turns to leave, in disgust] O: Hey. Wait. T: [turns] O: [glances through the paper one more time] Take this with you. [drops the paper on the ground and leaves] T: [stares at the paper. pause. Walks over, tucks it under his arm, and slowly walks outside.]