Small Plays About My Day

… tiny true dramas in a Charing Cross Road bookshop


Posted on | April 4, 2010 | No Comments

Man in glasses: This is my hat.
Emily: Is it? We wondered who left it.
Man in glasses: I’d know it anywhere.
Emily: That’s fine, you can take it.
Man in glasses: They can get you into trouble, hats.
Emily: Oh yes?
Man in glasses: You don’t get into clubs wearing them.
Emily: No?
Man in glasses: But I shouldn’t get angry about it. My rage is devastating.
Emily: Oh dear.
Man in glasses: It’s like I’m possessed. Do you want to see?
Emily: Well…
Man in glasses: (Screaming) GRRRRRR! ARRRRRRGH! RAAAAGH!
Zoë: Shall I start putting your books through the till?
Man in glasses: It’s a demon, but I know its name, so I can control it.
Zoë: That’s thirteen pounds please.
Man in glasses: (Hands over cash) And I’m gone. (Runs out of shop and across street.)


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  • "In a town like London there are always plenty of not quite certifiable lunatics walking the streets, and they tend to gravitate towards bookshops, because a bookshop is one of the few places where you can hang about for a long time without spending any money."
    George Orwell