A small apartment with a broken television.
(VINCE sits next to THRASH on the floor. They flip through bills, most with FINAL NOTICE written on them.)
VINCE: Thrash, we’re never gonna make it as artists.
THRASH: Don’t say that, man. I think my sculpting will really take off.
VINCE: No one sculpts, Thrash and no one’s gonna read my poetry.
THRASH: We just gotta keep at it.
VINCE: You said that six years ago when we moved to New York.
THRASH: It’s still true.
VINCE: It isn’t Thrash. No one ever lives to see themselves famous.
THRASH: So what do you suggest? Suicide?
VINCE: Yes, actually.
(THRASH gets out his cell-phone.)
What are you doing?
THRASH: I’m calling the hotline. You’re talking to them.
VINCE: No, I’m not. Think about it, Thrash. Every famous artist killed themselves before making it big.
THRASH: Edgar Allen Poe didn’t.
VINCE: He drank himself to death. Same difference.
THRASH: (putting away cell-phone.) So, we kill ourselves?
VINCE: Yes, but the death has to be memorable.
THRASH: We could do a bunch of drugs.
VINCE: Can’t afford it.
THRASH: Stick our heads in the oven?
VINCE: Sylvia Plath already did it. We don’t wanna be posers.
THRASH: (indignant.) Well, I’ve listed two. Why don’t you suggest something?
VINCE: I could brick you into a wall.
THRASH: Come, on! That was Poe’s short story. And you accuse me of being unoriginal?
VINCE: Okay, I’ve got it. We lie down in the middle of the road and wait for a truck.
THRASH: Won’t that hurt?
VINCE: Not very long.
THRASH: What if we eat each other?
VINCE: It could work.
THRASH: The whole art world will be talking about those two roommates who ate each other.
VINCE: And of course they’ll want to buy our sculptures and poetry. We’ll be novelties.
THRASH: Who goes first?
VINCE: I’ll start on your leg. (He goes toward a drawer in the kitchen.) It should be the most appetizing part.
THRASH: I think I should start eating you first.
VINCE: (closing drawer.) Why’s that?
THRASH: You’re a lot fatter.
VINCE: Screw that, you got ten pounds on me.
THRASH: We’ll never decide who eats the other. Let’s flip a coin.
VINCE: I’ve got a better idea.
VINCE: Let’s go on a killing spree. That way we live and other people die.
THRASH: But no one remembered Manson for his music.
VINCE: They still remembered him.
THRASH: I won’t look good with a swastika carved into my forehead.
VINCE: I’ll do it for you. My geometry teacher always liked the way I drew lines.
THRASH: Okay, let’s do this.
VINCE: I’ll get the car.
THRASH: It doesn’t run.
VINCE: Shoelace express?
THRASH: No way. We’re doing this rampage on roller skates.
THRASH: That’s dope.
© Ben Ditmars 2014