M. Thomas Cooper

CHARACTERS: 

JOSÉ: A young barista.

DEATH: The stark and somber collector of souls.

SAMUEL: A city worker with a penchant for philosophy.

(The stage is dark. Death’s voice is heard asking the time. As he enters and moves about the lights slowly rise. Eventually morning is represented and Death finds José rolling his portable espresso cart to a downtown street corner where he begins setting up.)

DEATH

Pardon me? Mrs. Denise Evans? Do you know the time? Midnight? Yes, thank you. Excuse me, David Smith, what time is it? 3:15? Thanks very much. Sue Geller? What time is it? 4:20? Great. Thanks. Ah, Dr. Marcus Jenkins? Do you have the time? 5:45? Wonderful, thank you very much. Ah, my good barista, Javier, do you know what time it is?

JOSÉ

Yes, I do. It’s mornin’ time—which means coffee, man. Time for a mega-latte, or an atomic-mocha. Though with your complexion, and it’s a wonderful and healthy pale one, don’t get me wrong, I’m just saying to pop some color onto those pallid cheeks I might indulge, go whole hog, shoot the works, jump the train, bury the hatchet, kick the dog, throw the cat, and get the concentrated tornado of caffeine—The Mind Wedgie. That’s right The Mind Wedgie—guaranteed to pull your shorts through your skull. What do you say? What do you say? Huh? $2.35. Best deal in downtown. What do you say? Yes? No? What do you say? What do you say?

DEATH

You are Javier Miguel Lopez Guadalajara Asante, are you not?

(Samuel enters with a broom and a trash can on wheels in search of things to pick up.)

JOSÉ

Man, The Wedgie is what you need. Picture this—I grind six, six man, six chocolate covered coffee beans, add four shots of espresso, fill with whole milk, two shakes of cinnamon, a dash of nutmeg, a quick squirt of whipped cream and you are wedgin’ in style. Skyrocket in flight, baby. Everyone’s getin’ ‘em. Everyone.

DEATH

Are you Javier Miguel Lopez Guadalajara Asante?

JOSÉ

Hey, Samuel! Samuel, doesn’t everyone get The Mind Wedgie? The Wedgie is where it’s at, right? Right, man? Samuel! Hey!

DEATH

I don’t believe it’s necessary to disturb the poor gentleman. If you’d just simply answer my question.

JOSÉ

Samuel, over here. Hey, man, how’s it goin’? Great. Great. Look, tell the man about how The Wedgie is the best thing around.

SAMUEL

I wouldn’t say “great.” Not with the precarious state of the world. More like an aroused melancholy, if you will.

JOSÉ

No, no philosophy Sam. Tell him about The Wedgie. The Wedgie, man.

SAMUEL

I don’t consider myself a philosopher. Philosophers tend to be corrupted by their predilection for the vices of academia. Socratic doctrine and the such tends to taint what’s actually happening on the street, in the world, thus diminishing....

JOSÉ

Sam. Hey, Samuel. Easy big boy, just about The Wedgie. Okay? He’s had a couple dozen too many.

DEATH

Yes, well if you’d just answer....

JOSÉ

Samuel? The Wedgie—it’s tasty, isn’t it? It’s good, yeah?

SAMUEL

Yes. In a pungent and dramatic coffee sense of tasty, yes. However, good would imply that coffee has the capacity for moral judgment. Which, unless I’m mistaken, it hasn’t actually achieved cognition. Though there are certain plants in the Brazilian rain forest that have demonstrated some remarkable attributes akin to consciousness.

JOSÉ

Thanks Sam. Thank you, Samuel. Samuel.... Here, take this, for your troubles. You may return to your beloved streets. So, what do you say? Mind Wedgie for ya?

DEATH

I have come for you Javier Miguel Lopez Guadalajara Asante—I am the great Specter, I am Death. Come.

JOSÉ

Whoa! You’ve had enough, man. A Wedgie would put you in a coma. Man, you gotta tell me these things-- I could be liable if you have a heart attack or something. Single, de-caf, almond latte for you, bud. Speculator in Death, huh? Much money in that? What do you deal in cemetery commodities? Tombstones, rosaries, candles and that liquid stuff they keep dead frogs in. What’s it called? Smells real bad and....

DEATH

Formaldehyde.

JOSÉ

Yeah, that’s it. You know they got people drinking that now? Call themselves the walking dead.

DEATH

Mere acquaintances. Now, are you Javier Miguel Lopez Guadalajara Asante, or not?

JOSÉ

No, I am not. Besides what the hell you want José for? 

DEATH

I want Javier Miguel Lopez Guadalajara Asante, not José.

JOSÉ

Then you don’t know Javier Miguel Lopez Guadalajara Asante-- because everyone, everyone that’s his friend, calls him José.

DEATH

Then are you José?

JOSÉ

No, man, I’m Manuel.

DEATH

When do you expect Javier Miguel... forgive me. When do you expect José to be here?

JOSÉ

Why?

DEATH

I’ve an appointment with Javier Miguel—José. You see, as I have said, I’m Death, and I’m a little pressed for time.

JOSÉ

Aren’t we all. Aren’t we all.