Naima. Hey.
Laetan. Hey, Naima. What are you doing here?
Naima. Going to get something to eat, but get this. I just got you something and was planning to give it to you when we meet this Saturday, but here you are, so here you are.
Laetan. Cigarettes? You got me a box of cigarettes?
Naima. I know. I’ve always been telling you how much I don’t want you to smoke and how quitting only shows how weak we all really are, but I got these from an old woman in an alley. She was just there, sitting on some cardboard with boxes of cigarettes neatly piled into a pyramid. Call me a sucker for that instantaneous buy, but I thought of you and what the heck, right? You wouldn’t believe how much I paid for this box.
Laetan. How much did you pay for this?
Naima. I thought you were going to ask me that, but should you really? I mean, it is a gift, but before you say anything, I do understand that these are just only cigarettes and not exactly what one would give a friend as a gift, well that is if you were buying them on an international airport at the duty free shop, but this is still a spontaneous gift, and I really feel those are the best kinds, and I also understand that cigarettes are expensive with all the taxes and everything, and I have a feeling that tax had nothing to do with the cigarettes I got you, so should I tell you how much I got the box for, and even further, should I tell you where I got them from?
Laetan. Well, I would say yes, please.
Naima. I’m going to say no, though. And it’s not because I’m trying to stop you from smoking. I mean, look, I just got you a box of cigarettes, but it’s because that box of cigarettes is special. It’s a gift from me. Every time you open a new carton of cigarettes, every time you light a cigarette up, you’ll think of me and how we bumped into each other earlier than we planned, and hopefully you’ll think of that Saturday; whatever’s going to happen then. If I told you where I got that box, you’ll get more for sure. Each box that you buy will only make my box less special.
Laetan. Okay, then. Thank you. I’ll see you on Saturday.
Naima. See ya.
End. A Gift of Cigarettes

Nabil. You’re getting married soon.
Svetlana. I hate it.
Nabil. What do you mean?
Svetlana. All the things we’re doing to get this marriage going are changing me for the worse. I’ve become hysterical. I’ve never cried and yelled so much in my life. I sometimes step back and listen to myself scream. I’m in absolute disbelief. Where did this come from?
Nabil. You’re going through a lot of pressure from a lot of people.
Svetlana. But it’s for a marriage. This is not like people are dying from a rare disease and it’s up to me to save them. This is just two people agreeing to share their lives together. What happened to the celebration in that? When did it become the worst times of our lives?
Nabil. Well it’s probably because everyone wants so much for your marriage to go perfectly, but everyone has a different ideal of what the perfect wedding should be.
Svetlana. Invitations, though? Who cares about the perfect invitation? I was ripping my hair out over what the invitations looked like with my mother in law. Scissors kept snipping in my mind. And look at this.
Nabil. What is that?
Svetlana. It’s a rash. I just hope it doesn’t spread to my face when the wedding finally does come.
Nabil. It’s killing you isn’t it?
Svetlana. No, it’s just twisting me into forty differently sized knots. I count them when I finally go to bed.
Nabil. You should never get married again.
Svetlana. I wonder if this is preparing me for babies.
End. Allergic to Marriage

Paradorn. Rossetta, I am a violent person.
Rossetta. I don’t know. You don’t seem it.
Paradorn. You’ve never seen me throw a chair through a glass window.
Rossetta. No, I haven’t, but I can’t imagine you doing something like that.
Paradorn. Some people have personalities that bring out the absolute worst in me. I’m learning to recognize these people, but it’s hard for me to control my emotions, so I just try to avoid them if at all possible.
Rossetta. Who are these people?
Paradorn. I guess it depends. People who are confrontational set me off. Also people who have pretenses about me or people with selfish natures who have no empathy for others. I can't help, but let these people into my head, then I want to release all that junk in a violent manner like smashing a window or tossing a lamp into a wall.
Rossetta. Do you hurt these people?
Paradorn. No, I’m actually in control when it comes to the violent part. I make sure that I don’t hurt anyone. I just need to release this energy that’s inside me. After that, I feel much better, even calm.
Rossetta. There’s always punching a pillow.
Paradorn. Yes, but it doesn’t make the same sort of violent sound a dumbbell makes when it goes through a fish tank.
End. A Calming Violence

Arvind. Have you seen Ivo lately?
Montinee. Yeah, he got a hair weave.
Arvind. Yeah, I know, but it took me some time to figure out that he had one. I kept telling him that he looked different for some reason, but I couldn’t figure it out. It’s cliché really. Straight from a commercial.
Montinee. I guess there is some truth in advertisements.
Arvind. Yeah, so I finally figured it out, but how do I say, “Hey, you got more hair?” It doesn’t seem like I should know exactly how Ivo looked different, just that he did look different. So I acted as if I couldn’t figure it out.
Montinee. I guess in those hair commercials, you only see people being fooled by how natural the hair is.
Arvind. But in this case, it’s not natural. One day, Ivo doesn’t have all that much hair, and the next day he does.
Montinee. Isn’t it possible for people gradually have hair weaved in so that it’ll look as if natural hair were growing?
Arvind. Yeah, but I must have missed the simulated growing stage. I haven’t seen him in a while.
Montinee. Why are you so concerned about this? You’ll get used to the fact that Ivo has hair now. It’s actually a good thing, isn’t it?
Arvind. Ever since that day I met Ivo, I’ve been noticing every follicle of hair that leaves my body.
End. Missing the Growing Stage

Konstantinos. Whiskey straight, please.
Halima. I’ll have a Manhattan.
Konstantinos. I almost had a Manhattan once.
Halima. Another one of your drinking stories?
Konstantinos. What’s the point in drinking if you don’t have stories to tell? I didn’t realize you didn’t like my stories.
Halima. I do like them. I guess I don’t have any real drinking stories myself. Even my first drink story is boring.
Konstantinos. I’d like to hear about your first drink.
Halima. I had a screwdriver at a party in one of the dorm rooms down the hall when I was a freshman in college. It was one of those parties where people are more excited by the fact that they are having a party than the actual party itself. I drank a quarter of my drink and threw the rest out in the bathroom sink. It was disgusting. The End. Why don’t you tell me your story about the Manhattan?
Konstantinos. Okay. I was at the Taj in AC during New Year’s.
Halima. A casino for New Year’s? What a way to start the year.
Konstantinos. It’s probably the only time they actually tell you what time it is. Everyone stopped gambling and counted from ten. Once New Year’s came, everyone cheered then quickly resumed to their tables.
Halima. It’s almost like a reset of sorts.
Konstantinos. So, I decided to start the year with a Manhattan. New year, new drink, new beginning. I asked one of the waitresses going around to get me one while I was at a poker table.
Halima. How did you do?
Konstantinos. I was under around two grand. I really didn’t know when to stop, until the Manhattan finally came. I didn’t drink it though. I think the combination of losing the two grand and the fact that the Manhattan came in a plastic cup made me nauseous – the olive rolling around. I left the Manhattan on the table and cashed what money I had left.
Halima. Was this the year you were thrown in jail?
Konstantinos. It was just a bad year all around.
Halima. Do you want to try my Manhattan now?
Konstantinos. I don’t know. I’ve surrendered to the fact that I will never have a Manhattan.
Halima. Please? It’ll give me a story - my first story for your first Manhattan.
Konstantinos. You have a deal, my little lady.
End. Leaving the Manhattan

Jalila. Sargis?
Sargis. Uh huh?
Jalila. I went through your glove compartment when you were in the store.
Sargis. Oh?
Jalila. Why do you keep two pairs of driving goggles in your glove compartment?
Sargis. Isn’t it somewhat obvious?
Jalila. But the only reason to wear them would be when for some reason the windshield goes missing. Is that why?
Sargis. What if I said yes?
Jalila. But you don’t have a first aid kit.
Sargis. I have a jack and spare tire, though.
Jalila. So the only emergencies you are prepared for are a flat tire and a windshield gone missing.
Sargis. I guess so.
Jalila. You’re hoping your windshield goes missing, aren’t you?
Sargis. There’s a pair for you if it happens today.
End. Windshield Gone Missing

Gala. Do you smell that?
Agustin. What is it?
Gala. It smells familiar, like it’s going to rain soon. It’s like we’re at an amusement park, and it’s going to rain soon. We have to hurry and get in one more ride.
Agustin. It smells like that?
Gala. I never liked rollercoasters. It disrupts the clarity in my head. It just puts me in a different state of mind.
Agustin. I really enjoy that state of mind.
Gala. I mean, sure. I’m nice and dizzy, but it’s like I’m in the moment rather than being able to observe myself. In that moment, I’m not really aware of myself. I’m just aware of what I’m feeling. Does this make sense?
Agustin. No, not really.
Gala. By riding rollercoasters, my body experiences the dizziness of riding a rollercoaster. There is nothing to think about, nothing to contemplate. I just feel dizzy. That’s it. It’s actually kind of boring. Then there’s movies. I can think during a movie. I can think what the other characters think, even sometimes what the director thinks. Do you see the difference?
Agustin. So basically on a rollercoaster, you do not think. You just feel.
Gala. Sometimes I wonder if I would be a good mother.
End. Feeling Dizzy

Neffa. Your watch stopped working.
Aniko. Yeah, I know. I’m wearing it to remind myself to change the batteries, but it’s confusing at times. I have to remind myself that my watch is wrong.
Neffa. How do you tell the time, then?
Aniko. I just ask someone or look around for a clock.
Neffa. I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t think I could ask someone the time. One time, some guy was looking at my watch, but he did it in an obvious manner. He bent down and tilted his head to look at the time. I don’t know why he didn’t just ask.
Aniko. Maybe he was like you and didn’t want to ask.
Neffa. I wonder what will happen when my watch battery dies. I think I would become all dramatic and act as if it was the end of the world.
Aniko. Give me a call. I’ll save your world for you.
End. Time Not Known