John Summer and Smoke Monologue

JOHN: Tomorrow we leave together, and Father or somebody else can tell old Mrs. Arbuckle her eighty-five years are enough and she’s got to go now on the wings of carcinoma. Dance, Rosa! Tomorrow we leave here together, We sail out of Galveston, don’t we? (Picks up bottle, pours drink and drinks.)

I have the tickets.

We’ll go alright, and live on fat remittances from your Papa! Ha-ha!

Not long ago the idea would have disgusted me, but not now. Rosa! Rosa Gonzales! Did anyone ever slide downhill as fast as I have this summer? Ha-ha! Like a greased pig. And yet every evening I put on a clean white suit. I have a dozen. Six in the closet and six in the wash. And there isn’t a sign of depravity in my face. And yet all summer I’ve sat around here like this, remembering last night, anticipating the next one! The trouble with me is, I should have been castrated! (Rises abruptly, with bottle and glass, staggers to above desk, puts them down. Rosa has thrown herself on couch weeping.) Dance, Rosa! Why don’t you dance? What’s the matter, Rosa? Why don’t you go on dancing?

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