Ruxandra. So, did you do anything today?
Parsa. I did laundry.
Ruxandra. You have machines in your building, don’t you?
Parsa. Yeah, something happened to my laundry today.
Ruxandra. What, did someone steal your clothes?
Parsa. I did leave my drying laundry to be taken from my possession to return some library books, and when I returned, I found all my clothes out of the drier, folded and sorted into four separate piles.
Ruxandra. So, you don’t know who did it?
Parsa. No.
Ruxandra. Did you want to?
Parsa. I don’t know really. I checked the drier that I used and a woman’s clothing were rolling around in the machine.
Ruxandra. Have you fallen in love?
Parsa. Oh, come on.
Ruxandra. Then why did you go look in the drier?
Parsa. Okay, I did want to know if it was a man or a woman.
Ruxandra. Does it matter?
Parsa. It does. I’m more comfortable having a woman fold my clothes than a man.
Ruxandra. You want to meet this woman, don’t you?
Parsa. I’m just curious.
Ruxandra. You already have an image of her in your mind, don’t you? This perfect little woman folding your clothes.
Parsa. It’s better than a perfect little man folding my clothes.
End. Folding Preference

Gia. What’s with your fingers?
Marwan. Oh, yeah. I had to be fingerprinted today for work.
Gia. Really? Can’t sneak into the boss’s closet of toys and cookies anymore?
Marwan. You know, when the guy was fingerprinting me, I couldn’t relax.
Gia. Feel like you did something wrong?
Marwan. I guess I was trying too hard helping him fingerprint me. He kept on telling me to relax and let him do the prints. I couldn’t help rolling my fingers with him. I really had to concentrate to relax.
Gia. Did you actually relax?
Marwan. I ended up concentrating on a screen saver of a three dimensional bouncing ball on the computer next to me, but you’re right. I think on some sort of subconscious level, I did feel like I did something wrong and that they would find out.
Gia. But what did you do wrong?
Marwan. I don’t know, but now they’re going to find out.
End. Printing Tells All

Claudine. Any notes today?
Sertab. Yeah, paper boats and streams.
Claudine. Want to tell me about it?
Sertab. There was this park. I can’t remember driving into a parking lot, but we must have. My parents and their friends would play doubles on courts with cracks that black ants would run in and out of. I remember trees, not like a forest, but more like a roof, making a shaded, hollowed out shelter. I can’t remember being able to hear the stream down old skewed up concrete stairs, but I do remember what the water should sound like wrinkling over and around top dry stones my brother and I would stand on, bending over without getting our shorts wet. I remember silver flecks reflecting from the silt. It must have been rich soil.
Claudine. Did you make paper boats to float down the stream?
Sertab. My dad had newspaper from him. Probably from the car, or maybe he found it lying somewhere and got the idea to make paper boats. The boats were enormous, capable of cracking through rock in its path. I imagined it that way. We made three boats. It would have made sense to make a boat out of a sheet from the coupon section, but I can’t remember if we did. We made our boats and put them into the stream.
Claudine. What happened?
Sertab. They never went straight with the flow of the stream curving them to the side. The water would soak in and undo the tight folds we put into our paper boats. I can’t remember them sinking, but they must have.
End. Paper Boats in the Stream

Ai. There’s my friend in the middle of the row. You can give half to him and I’ll take the rest.
Theater Usher. If you can take this, sir.
Marianthi. Um, okay? I got it. Thank you.
Theater Usher. Enjoy the movie.
Ai. Thanks.
Marianthi. What is all this?
Ai. Two drinks, one for you and one for me, a popcorn to share, gummy bears, snowcaps, and this is a hot dog with chili and cheese. Oh, do you want a pickle?
Marianthi. Yes?
Ai. Napkin?
Marianthi. Thanks. You know, I don’t think I ever remember you getting anything ever at the concession stands whenever we watch a movie.
Ai. Yeah, it’s a rule of mine not to.
Marianthi. But now?
Ai. Do you know why we make rules, Marianthi?
Marianthi. I guess to keep things in order.
Ai. Right. I made this rule of not eating anything when watching a movie because I wanted to experience the entire movie as a pure whole. I want to devote my entire attention towards whatever is presented on the screen in front of me and not have any distractions like eating popcorn and finding a place for the bag when you’re done. You have rules like that, don’t you?
Marianthi. Sure, I don’t go to movies or restaurants alone.
Ai. Have you ever?
Marianthi. I have, and it’s not a pleasant experience. I become extremely paranoid.
Ai. Do you think you could just go to the movies by yourself?
Marianthi. There has to be certain circumstances for me to go to the movies by myself.
Ai. Like what?
Marianthi. Actually, I would go see a Woody Allen movie by myself. No one really goes to see his films anymore, so it’s interesting to laugh with the few people in a theater watching, but I guess in that way I don’t really feel like I’m watching it all by myself. We’re all watching by ourselves in a way. At least, that’s how I think of it.
Ai. What if I left?
Marianthi. What do you mean? Leave now?
Ai. Yeah. What if I just left you with all this food?
Marianthi. Well then, in theory, this would be my worst nightmare come real - Eating a meal and watching a movie alone.
Ai. Would you really eat all this and watch the movie?
Marianthi. Probably not.
Ai. It’s really tempting to leave.
Marianthi. I’d understand if you did.
Ai. You would?
Marianthi. You need to.
Ai. I’m afraid I do.
End. Getting Up
onesamseventeensixteen

Endri. Sometimes I feel like I’m just wasting my time here.
Tzipora. Why? What’s going on?
Endri. I wanted to make pretzels, and the recipe required tepid water of one hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit, and the way it was written, it seemed like it was important that the water be one-ten, but how hot is that?
Tzipora. I guess not very hot since it’s supposed to be tepid.
Endri. Right, but I convince myself that I had to heat this water to exactly one hundred and ten degrees.
Tzipora. So what’d you do?
Endri. I went out and got myself a seven-dollar thermometer. It goes from zero to two hundred and twenty degrees. I can now cook meat to a perfect medium with this thing, and you know me with new things. I wanted to try it out on everything. I boiled water and it told me what is was in Fahrenheit, I put it on the windows to see the difference between the surface and the air inside the room, but then I put the thermometer under running hot water and guess what it said?
Tzipora. What?
Endri. I’ll let you know for seven dollars.
End. One Hundred and Ten Equals Seven Dollars