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The Help Wizard
Bob, Leo and Marion sit in raised director’s chairs waiting for the Help Wizard to boot up. An OLD FELLA in gray hair and beard, a well-worn coat and floppy fedora shuffles in.
Old Fella
I sing the body electric!
examines his clothing, rubs his hands together, feels his face
I cannot be awake, for nothing looks to me as it did before, or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep.
Dom
Santy Claus!
Marion
Mon Dieu! L’ange sans ses ailes!
Old Fella
Neither Santa nor angel, merely a man. Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son. Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking and breeding. No sentimentalist, no stander above men and women or apart from them. No more modest than immodest.
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