Proctor Approves

[I warned you two posts ago about this play. It's called I'm Not in a Band, and it will be divided into three acts, each released at a different time. Act I, commence!]

The end of 2009, Cornfield, New Jersey; holidays are coming; there's an air of complete peacefulness. As the decade terminates, the problems are building, everything feels cheap -- but everyone seems satisfied, dreamy, and completely relaxed.

The curtain rises. Five teenagers appear on and around a park bench, all with aimless gazes and some odd serenity intact. Anthony Scallera stands to the left of the bench, moving slightly back and forth. David Lipskid sits on the far left of the bench, at present looking straight. Steve Frapito sits in the middle of the bench, currently leaning to the left. Sean Riccoldi sits on the paved walkway in front of Steve, rocking systematically. Adam Vurnel sits on the top of the bench on the right, facing the rest.

Anthony Scallera is sixteen years old, lazy, certain. David Lipskid is sixteen years old, inspired but lazy. Steve Frapito is seventeen years old, sure of himself, and particularly enlightened. Sean Riccoldi is sixteen years old, happy, frivolous. Adam Vurnel is sixteen years old, emotionless and very, very satisfied.

ADAM: Thanks for hooking me up, bro.

DAVID, quickly: Sure.

ADAM, moving to the opposite side of the bench: How much should I put in?

DAVID: Five's good.

ADAM: Okay.

STEVE, in the light of some awkward silence: I'll get some good Sartallo shit soon.

SEAN: Nice, man.

ADAM, trying to seem greatly interested: What's Sartallo's shit like?

STEVE: It's awesome. Real mellow high; you don't bug-out or anything, mainly. Good shit overall.

ANTHONY, mostly to himself: I gotta smoke.

DAVID: It doesn't really matter. But yeah we'll hook you up.

ANTHONY, trying to condense his explanation: Yeah I'd smoke, it's just my mom will kill me, bro.

DAVID, attempting sympathy: True. Dave loosely looks at the others. Yo, his mom grounded him for like three months 'cause he got a C in math.

STEVE: Yeah you probably won't get caught. As long as you don't go home right after smoking or -- just use Axe or like, Tag.

Enter Laura Tricello, fellow teenager, all smiles. Walking through the park and recognizing all five men, she stops.

LAURA: Sean! I'll step on you. . .

SEAN, sarcastically: Haha, you're cool.

LAURA: Anyone have bud? I'm gonna get some from Michaela later but --

STEVE: Farsello has some. He's good it's just, eh -- it's okay.

LAURA: True, Birrino's and Diaz's are better, yeah.

DAVID, surprised: You know Frank Diaz -- cool.

LAURA: My sister dated him. His shit is the best.

DAVID, sensing Laura has to get somewhere: Yeah . . . haven't bought from him in a while.

LAURA: You should . . . I have to talk to Erica. She's, er -- she's "in love" with Mohammed -- the freshman kid. See ya later guys.

DAVID: See ya.

SEAN: Later, bitch.

STEVE: See ya. Laura exits. We should do something.

DAVID: Wanna practice?

STEVE, sarcastically: Ant, you're gonna have to go home.

ANTHONY: Yeah, okay. Dude we should play some Pain Funnel songs.

STEVE: Come on bro. They're terrible, you know it.

SEAN: Eh, "Rampant Materialism" is okay. Ant seriously though they aren't fucking the next Beatles.

STEVE: Whatever, either way let's just go to a show or something.

DAVID: I know NetNannies are playing at Wellmont tomorrow. They're mostly ska punk.

STEVE: Yeah . . . today though.

DAVID: I don't know. Wanna just split or something?

STEVE, exhaustion building: It's like eight man. Whatever.

SEAN: Wanna play DDD?

STEVE: Come on, man.

DAVID: Uh, wanna just go to that show tomorrow? I'll just do my Smith homework tonight or something. I'm kinda tired.

STEVE: Sure.

Everyone gets up. They start walking east -- Adam and Sean are still noticeably high. As they trudge towards their next resting place, the curtain descends.