If theatre is only theatre, Devon’s lies are true.
|An open door is on stage, it enters the scene, sits on a chair and starts|
D: Like a movie, the car is running, flying, scretch and millions of rearview mirror pieces are down the street. And I feel ok, it’s ok. A hundred thousand times, pieces of mirror on the street.
That jerk Jimmy slams the office door, sbam!
|Devon stamps its feet|
And again, fuck it. The work world, professionals, earnings, are all completely illusory. At the office people like Jimmy are surviving only because what they always do wrong became the new best way of working, but in the end, everyone works their way, slams doors and ends the day.
Photo-reality, the camera is broken.
Real, real, more and more real, Jimmy and the coffee spots at the counter, disgusting as the bus stop air inlets.
Mum raised them all among wolves.
Walker is the king of strays, the bastard of the litter. If there’s something real in this nature sitcom is that the rotten apple does not fall far from its tree: who doesn’t hunt in packs can’t answer emails, can’t pay debts off, can’t call insurance companies. And the hundred thousand pieces that divide you from your irritable bowel stay as they are. At the most, you can bring them to the mechanic and solve your acidity.
Selz, money, breakfast, repeat.
Walker is the son of a godless.
Jimmy and Walker are sons of different gods, different from mine if it’s Devon’s saying and if I really have to say it, then it’s the same as bringing the car to the mechanic.
|Devon stands up and take its shirt off, it’s wearing a t-shirt underneath and moves freely in the space|
The mirror I can assemble is compatible but not the original one, that’s what they said at the body shop. It’s ok, at the end of the day it’s ok. The only good one in town is more than 5 blocks away from me.
Walker gifted me this bummer to have mirrors in different colours but it’s ok.
Different colours today, well done.
Even brand-new ones wouldn’t shake off this sadness, I feel stubborn to accept this damage and the repair. And even if I freeze it, it’s thousands and thousands of pieces far from a smile. And it’s with tight face muscles that you reach Walker who’s waiting window-down, and finally you’re looking at the face of another god’s son. (…)
Credits: © Grand Palais/Sabrina Gruhne, 2019.