(George is 14. Clint, his older brother, is 17. Mom and Dad are 40. Their bodies sway and jerk back and forth in unison. Left to right. Right to left. To center. To left. To right. To center. There are a couple randoms in the vicinity, including Man Who Will Be Doug.)
(To audience.) What’s up? (Pause.) Oh, shit. You need to meet everyone. So, um…this is my Dad.
We’re gonna have a great time today champ.
(To audience.) He’s 45. He’s a refrigerator salesman. This is my Mom.
Beautiful day for your first time in the city.
She’s 43. She works at a bank. And this is Clint.
Beautiful day for your first time in the city. Grow a pair, penis wrinkle.
(To audience.) He’s 17. He’s a shithead.
(To audience.) And I’m George. I’m 14. I live in Itasca, Illinois, which is….that way. It is one of the great dreams of my life, even though I’m still only 14 and not yet able to articulate such idealistic notions, to meet someone to love, preferably a girl, on the trains of Chicago. But I’ve never ridden the train and I’ve never been to Chicago. Until today.
This is a purple line express train headed to Washington & Wells. Next stop is Belmont. Doors open on the right at Belmont.
Why did we park so far away?
Because parking in downtown Chicago is like a hundred dollars an hour, dicktard.
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