[A nightclub, loud music. People dance.]
DAVID: (yelling) The bright lights fill me up and the music takes over. A colossal explosion of colours and noise. Terrible electric. Men, woman and children fall into me and create injuries on my toes. There is a feeling of excitement that will never truly swallow me up. I don’t want to be engulfed. I don’t want to be enlisted into this catastrophic episode of exotic extravagance.
MATTHEW: (yelling also) Do you want a drink, David?
DAVID: I’ve been longing for someone to pick me up and place me in a different land. But I’m here for the moment. A member of this incessant activity that I have routinely become a part of. There is no escape from this nightmare. There are too many people in this moment. I don’t want to see all these faces, all these smiles.
MATTHEW: Two shots of tequila.
DAVID: I keep seeing people who look like people I know, but I don’t know who they are. And I can’t remember the people they remind me of. No one here is a friend of mine. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want any of this. I don’t like to lose control. I don’t want you. I don’t need anyone. I’m too young for pinning down meaning for everything and attempting to stabilise situations.
MATTHEW: You’re alright, David!
DAVID: I dream. I dream of freedom. I wish I could dream of people to share my freedom with.
MATTHEW: Two bottles of cider.
DAVID: Everyone wants a piece of the revolution. Of the freedom revolution. A crowd gathers. The strangers pile up, around a fountain. The freedom fountain in Freedom Square in the centre of town. Nobody has ever seen a more beautiful sight. Water gushing down the statues of the striking woman of the freedom revolution, and pouring into a pool, before journeying back to the top to make its way down again. It’s the last alluring structure in the centre of town.
MATHEW: Two shots of Sambuca.
TO BE CONTINUED
PHILIPPA MANNION 