(The Street. MRS WALPURGIS is leafletting on the street. NARRATOR is watching her.)NARRATOR: Morning, Mrs Walpurgis!
MRS WALPURGIS: Do I know you?
NARRATOR: Saw you in the local rag.
MRS WALPURGIS: I don't think...
NARRATOR: Well, you know, I'm a resident too.
(MRS WALPURGIS exits hurriedly.)NARRATOR: Goodbye Mrs W!
I went to school for a while
there with her, but she doesn't
remember me. Of course,
we've both changed a lot since then.
Finished up in the same town,
opposite ends of the spectrum.
I know her daughter, though
comes every year to the Pride Parade
giving out holy medals,
thinks we need a miracle
swooning saints on gilt-edged cards
promising discount on purgatory.
What can you say?
It's a free country.
(NARRATOR withdraws. ANGEL enters. A CLIENT enters and falls into step with ANGEL.)ANGEL: What's happening?
CLIENT: How much?
ANGEL: It's going to be a nice day
CLIENT: I wouldn't know about that.
ANGEL: You've got a nice voice. I like
CLIENT: I need relief.
ANGEL: I understand. Relief
(CLIENT takes calculator from pocket.)Time is essence,
so to speak.
CLIENT: My boss is always
ANGEL: I'll be your boss.
CLIENT: You're not dressed for it.
ANGEL: Then close your eyes
CLIENT: I can't wait.
ANGEL: the essence. Move on down
Smith Street | Mudlark No. 19
Contents | Act 1, Scene Three