A large sculpture of a rusty ironclad whale rests stage left. The whale, depending on ones perspective, has a smirk of sorts and is covered with graffiti.
To the right of the whale is a trashcan with an assortment of various garbage pouring out from it to the ground.
Diagonally positioned at furthest stage right is a worn down brown bench. Resting on this bench is a case of beer, a ripped open brown paper bag visibly containing bananas and a handful of napkins scrounged up and dried with blood.
4:45 in the morning, during the Spring.
(The Sun begins to rise. A beam of light from the sun’s rays aims itself over the back of the whale, hitting CHARLIE poetically in his chest. He wears a dark green hooded sweater, light blue jeans that reveal his black socks when he sits and white beat up sneakers. Charlie mumbles, “I am the candy man” to himself.)
(pause of 2 full minutes)
(speaking to the whale)
CHARLIE: —who knew it would be like this…there’s no, shock; for a second there…disbelief, surreal but; there’s more of a—once it’s done, that overwhelms you, that energizes you, makes you feel like your mother does; when you are cared for…when she is there to save you from harm. (beat) Still, here.(beat) Still, present. (beat) Still…nothing’s changed really. Still have my charm; still have my doubts; memories…questions. (shaking his head and mumbling the word “different”) What could be, what is…
What have you been smirking at all these years; or is that a frown? (long pause.) Yeah, yeah…the candy man…Wanna sip? (offers the whale his beer) All them years getting shot at, this jungle of life, they never took me down, too strong for ‘em—dodged all them bullets, for sure…always knew when to duck or hide behind a tree, sometimes I’d even hide in the trees. (pause.) Never thought I’d be doing this so long; it’s not that it’s bad, no; I’ve had some joyful moments, especially during the middle years, when things was good…things was together, firm and solid…like a rock; I was—Eh, it’s kept money in my pocket, food in my belly and clothes on my back; even if they’re not the…clothes…I just never went past it. I’ve tried—I’ve tried but I just never had the luck. (beat) Think I was always afraid of success,of being something more; of realizing, realizing… Was it the chase I was in love with all along? (beat) Crock of shit! I see that. I…see… Always have but was always too much of a—I was never—
(drinks from his beer)
This is a one-act play about CHARLIE, a man at the end of his rope, who undergoes a final series of life memories, while talking to his best friend in the whole wide world, an ironclad statue of a whale.