Excerpt from the monologue 'I stopped kidding years ago' [unfinished, 2014]

[Agnes, (mid-thirties, slightly wilted but with quiet determination) enters stage left. Looks up, eyes fixating on something of interest. Talks to someone we can't see.]

AGNES

Excuse me... 

Excuse me...!

Um, I was wondering... how much is that doggy in the window?

I mean the one with the... waggly tail.

(louder) I said: how much is that doggy in the window?

See, I do hope that doggy's for sale...

It's not?
What do you mean it's not.

Well, it's got a price tag on and everything.

It just seems... that you'd want someone to buy it. What, you just keep it there for show?

I'm not getting aggressive! It's just, why would you tag it if you're not going to sell it?

Oh, it's a dog tag. I see. That's very clever of you.  

(rolls her eyes.)

I can't believe you would...!

(shakes her head.)

That you would...

See.. I had a dog, once.

Bingo was his name. Oh...

B-I-N-G-O.

(shakes her head, reminiscing a time long ago.)

Yeah. Bingo was his name.

(walks a circle, arms folded, talking mostly to herself.)

Everything either slowly decays, or goes off with a bang...

I'm not a fan of either.

(looks back at the shopkeeper.)

But if I could just have one look at him...

I'm not being irrational, you're being irrational!

What does this have to do with your mother?

Oh...

Yes, I suppose it was the same for me.
I would wake up and reach around to give him a kiss and find that he wasn't there...

Well, yes, not quite the same as with your mother.

(shakes her head in frustration) This doesn't make sense. I've already lost one, and I want to get another one just so I can lose it as well. 

...

Coffee? You mean like, on a date?

(glances around.)

I'm not sure--

I don't think we have that much in common. Only that we've both lost something. Everyone's lost something. Just the other day my mum lost her glasses. Looked for them all day. Useless. She still doesn't know where they are. She'll have to get new ones and they take ages to arrive, and she's been squinting for the past three days and asking me "what does that say?" and "what does this say?" 

It drives me up the wall.

(Slight pause. After said pause, important things will be spoken of. Promises will be made, perhaps broken. Clumsy metaphors will make an appearance. The sad nature of fully surrendering yourself to hope will be addressed, perhaps more often than needed. The curtain will fall, when the time comes.)