331. A Little Street Theatre
I was remembering today for some reason some of the stories my daughter Dara would tell me about the street theatre that she and her friend did on the streets of New York. They shared an apartment but sometimes when they were out together—these two young women—they’d stand on a Manhattan corner and start talking about one of their boyfriends and how they were on the brink of breaking up. Their goal was to gather a crowd who leaned in to listen. Inevitably they were successful.
One time I experienced a little of this myself with Dara. She and I had met and were going to get on the subway together. We went down the steps and she went through the turn-stile and waited for me. I had gotten several tokens, put one in the turn-stile, and as I walked through, I dropped another one. Quickly, I bent to pick it up and Dara came toward me saying loudly, “Lady, that’s my token.” I said, “No it’s not—it’s mine.” She escalated and said, “Lady—anybody can tell you that I just dropped that token and it’s mine—give it to me.” My voice got louder too as I said, “Well, you’re just wrong because I just dropped it.”
Dara turned to look at a policeman who was heading our way, and she scooted toward the steps down to the subway. I looked up, saw him too, and headed down after her.
End of improvised play.
