(There is a window on the stage, and a MAN standing before it. He turns
    to face the audience)

Do you realize that a man is standing across the street, who has been staring at this
window for 20 minutes? The man is handicapped and he smells of moldy cheese. And he
stands outside my window every day, at half past noon, for half an hour, and he stares
inside my room. With half a brain and half a dollar in his pocket, he stands out there and
waits. I know he has a half a dollar because I threw it at him once. Just to watch him fetch. It
took him 30 seconds just to realize he’d been hit. It took him 30 more to pick it up. He still
has it in his pocket. I don’t think he showers. I’ve never seen him wear a different shirt. He
just stands alone for 30 minutes, with his thirty second reflex, and his dirty yellow t-shirt,
and then, at one, he walks away and the only proof I even have that he exists is the smell
of old formage. Can you smell it?
    (He breathes in. The smell of moldy cheese wafts into the audience.)
It smells worse than I-don’t-know-what. Of course, he is my father, but I’ll never let him in.

    (The MAN exits. Slowly another man enters the stage, in a dirty yellow t-    shirt. He
    crosses to the window and looks in. His voice is sad and distant, like an            old
    forgotten dream.)

Hello? Anybody lose a nickel? I’ve got a giant nickel here. In my
pocket. It hit me in the face two days ago. It hit me in the face.
Anybody here? You need some change? I’ve got some change
to offer you. It’s just a giant nickel. Anybody in here? Hell-o?        Anyone?
    (Suddenly, in a rage, he punches the empty space within the window
    frame. We hear the sounds of shattered glass.)
I guess nobody one wants the change.

    (He exits. The MAN re-enters.)

Good lord! What? Where did all this glass come from? I hope my darling is all right.
Darling? Wife? Bunchkins?
(He turns to the audience and snaps his fingers.)
I’ll bet it was my father. He isn’t at his post. He’s not the man he used to be. He’s dirty.
People used to love that man. They adored him. They threw money at his feet. But… that
was thirty years ago. People change in thirty years. People… change. Now they throw
money at his face.
    (Small pause)
Well, at least the smell of cheese is gone. At least the…
    (He stops himself from finishing)
I’ll have to call the repairman soon. I don’t want Muffin catching cold.

    (He exits. Lights out. End of play)

A Play in One Page
by Daniel Guyton © 2002