{"product_id":"fifteen-oneact-plays-isbn-9780345802767","title":"Fifteen One-Act Plays","description":"Filled with wry, dark humor, unparalleled imagination, unforgettable characters, and exquisitely crafted storytelling, Sam Shepard’s plays have earned him enormous acclaim over the past five decades. In these fifteen one-acts, we see him at his best, displaying his trademark ability to portray human relationships, love, and lust with rare authenticity. These fifteen furiously energetic plays confirm Shepard's status as our most audacious living playwright, unafraid to set genres and archetypes spinning with results that are utterly mesmerizing. Included in this volume:\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eAges of the Moon\u003cbr\u003eEvanescence; Shakespeare in the Alley\u003cbr\u003eShort Life of Trouble\u003cbr\u003eThe Unseen Hand\u003cbr\u003eThe Rock Garden\u003cbr\u003eChicago\u003cbr\u003eIcarus’s Mother\u003cbr\u003e4H Club\u003cbr\u003eFourteen Hundred Thousand\u003cbr\u003eRed Cross\u003cbr\u003eCowboys #2\u003cbr\u003eForensic \u0026amp; The Navigators\u003cbr\u003eThe Holy Ghostly\u003cbr\u003eBack Bog Beast Bait\u003cbr\u003eKiller’s HeadIntroduction by Conor McPherson \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAGES OF THE MOON \u003cbr\u003eEVANESCENCE, OR SHAKESPEARE IN THE ALLEY \u003cbr\u003eSHORT LIFE OF TROUBLE \u003cbr\u003eTHE UNSEEN HAND \u003cbr\u003eROCK GARDEN\u003cbr\u003eCHICAGO \u003cbr\u003eICARUS’S MOTHER \u003cbr\u003e4- H CLUB \u003cbr\u003eFOURTEEN HUNDRED THOUSAND \u003cbr\u003eRED CROSS \u003cbr\u003eCOWBOYS #2\u003cbr\u003eFORENSIC \u0026amp; THE NAVIGATORS\u003cbr\u003eHOLY GHOSTLY \u003cbr\u003eBACK BOG BEAST BAIT \u003cbr\u003eKILLER’S HEAD“The greatest American playwright of his generation…the most inventive in language and revolutionary in craft…the writer whose work most accurately maps the interior and exterior landscapes of his society.” —\u003ci\u003eNew York Magazine\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“Stunning in their originality, defiant and inscrutable.” —\u003ci\u003eEsquire\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“With the exception of David Mamet, no American playwright of his generation matches Mr. Shepard in the creation of characters that are immediately so accessible and so mysterious.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“One of our best and most challenging playwrights. . . . His plays are a form of exorcism: magical, sometimes surreal rituals that grapple with the demonic forces in the American landscape.” —\u003ci\u003eNewsweek\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“One of the most original, prolific and gifted dramatists at work today.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New Yorker\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Sam Shepard fulfills the role of professional playwright as a good ballet dancer or acrobat fulfills his role in performance. . . . He always delivers, he executes feats of dexterity and technical difficulty that an untrained person could not, and makes them seem easy.” —\u003ci\u003eThe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eVillage Voice\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“The major talent of his generation. . . . An original, a major force. . . . [Shepard] is a poet of the theater, shaping a new language out of broken words: an emotional seismograph registering the tremors which shake the substratum of human life.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cb\u003eSAM SHEPARD\u003c\/b\u003e was the Pulitzer Prize–winning author of more than fifty-five plays, three story collections, and two works of prose fiction. As an actor, he appeared in more than sixty films, and received an Oscar nomination in 1984 for \u003ci\u003eThe Right Stuff.\u003c\/i\u003e He was a finalist for the W. H. Smith Literary Award for his story collection \u003ci\u003eGreat Dream of Heaven.\u003c\/i\u003e In 2012 he was awarded an honorary doctorate from Trinity College, Dublin. He was a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, received the Gold Medal for Drama from the Academy, and was inducted into the Theater Hall of Fame. He died in 2017.\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eAges of the Moon\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ages of the Moon was first performed at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on March 3, 2009, with the following cast:\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Sean McGinley\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Stephen Rea\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e It premiered in the United States on January 27, 2010, at the Linda Gross Theater in New York City with the same cast, and was presented by the Atlantic Theater Company.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e The production was directed by Jimmy Fay.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e I am the womb of every holt,\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e I am the blaze on every hill,\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e I am the queen of every hive,\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e I am the shield for every head,\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e I am the tomb of every hope.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Who foretells the ages of the moon?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e —“Song of Amergin,” 1268 bc\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Scene\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Early 1800s whitewashed brick county house (Kentucky style), a story and a half high. Dark-green or black trim around door frame and windows; kitchen door stage left wall of house, letting out to plank wood porch facing audience directly. Porch is set about three feet above stage floor; plank stairs letting off to stage right with railing. Porch has a raised-seam metal roof, dark green. Large black fan hangs down from center of porch roof with thin chain dangling down. Fan is already in motion when play begins. Two raw cedar Adirondack chairs, well aged with weather stains, broad armrests, set on porch stage right and left, slightly angled toward each other with a small round wooden table between them. Solid kitchen door is wide open with an exterior screen door closed, revealing warm orange interior light of kitchen but no details like appliances, furniture, etc., just space. Each time screen door is opened by Ames it snaps shut behind him with an emphatic pop. Window in stage right wall of house with interior blinds half closed; yellow glow of light within. Two dormer windows set high above porch roof, right and left; no light from either. Roof of house disappears up into flies. Light surrounds house at all sides with no attempt at literal background, i.e., trees, hills, etc. House should appear to be hovering in space.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Play begins in bright noon sunlight of late summer, and light gradually falls off into dusk and then into black night with full moon effect occurring slowly like a stripe of white light, gradually narrowing to a knife-edge by end of play.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Lights down to black as audience settles. Ernest Tubb singing “Have You Ever Been Lonely” begins in dark. Lights slowly rise as song continues, revealing Ames, seated in stage left chair; Byron in stage right—each staring straight out over the audience and nursing a glass of bourbon on ice. They are both in their midsixties. Ames wears well-worn pointed dress shoes, old-fashioned white wing tips, laces untied and no socks; khaki work pants too short, no cuffs, revealing his skinny ankles; slightly stained white T-shirt, black suspenders over, no hat. Byron wears a pair of black work boots stained with red clay, faded brown Carhartt pants, black Western shirt with synthetic pearl snaps—no design on shirt, sleeves worn long, snapped at the wrists; a plain blue baseball cap with no insignia of any kind. A gray vest.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e When song reaches its first instrumental break the lights are up and the instrumental slowly fades away to silence. Pause as the two of them stare out and casually sip their bourbon.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e NOTES: All stage directions are from the POV of the actor, facing the audience.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Although the setting hints at being Appalachian, the actors should not attempt a corresponding accent. A flat middle-of-the-road sound is best.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames:  Okay, okay, okay. (Sips from glass and sets it down) Here we go—here’s the really sour part of the whole deal. She discovers this note—this note from this girl, which to this day I cannot for the life of me remember. I mean—all right, maybe vaguely—very dimly—somewhere in the long ago. Some parking lot—middle of some rainy night. Bozeman or Billings, could’ve been. Fishing. I don’t know. I truly—but I swear, some girl I would never in a million years have ever returned to for even a minor blow job.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Minor?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Well, you know—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: No, I don’t know. They’re all major, as far as I’m concerned. At this point.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Not something lasting—memorable.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Aha! Quickly forgotten.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Exactly.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: But not in her mind.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: In her imagination.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Whose?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Your wife’s.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: No—well, that’s the thing.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: That’s why I’m here, I guess.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: That’s why I called you, yes.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Some kind of moral support or something.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Well, I wouldn’t go that far.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Good. Just so we’re clear.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Pause. They both sip bourbon and stare out.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e So, long story short, looks like you’ve got yourself into Big Doggy Doo-doo, “Mr. Frisky.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I don’t know where it came from, I swear.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: The note.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Just appeared outta nowhere, huh? I bet that went over big.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Never saw her write it.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Too busy with your zipper?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: She wrote it on the border of my fishing map when I wasn’t looking. Can you believe it?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Quaint.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Just scribbled her name and phone number. Right parallel with the Yellowstone River. As though I’d actually call her.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What was her name?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Can’t remember. I’m telling you—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: But young—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Twenty-two, twenty-three, maybe.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: You should be ashamed.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I know.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: But are you?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I’m—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Banished.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Exiled. Never to return no more, no more.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Well—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: She’ll forgive you. Maybe. Down the road.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I don’t know. It’s not a good feeling, being despised.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: No. Meanwhile, this is not a bad place to lay low. Birds. Stars at night, I bet. Deer furtively grazing.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Trees. Peaceful.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I guess. Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: When you’re not in turmoil.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Right.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Torture.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Pause.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: How’d you find it, anyway? This place.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Fishing. You know—down here fishing. Had to get out of the city. Needed a escape, I guess.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Now it’s turned into your little refuge, huh?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: “Made in the shade if the tree don’t fall.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: The tree.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: What tree?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Not these trees, it’s metaphorical. Sort of. Just—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Oh—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: You know—the tree. Providing the shade. If it falls, then—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Well, it’s not the tree that’s metaphorical, then. It’s the shade. Isn’t it.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Whatever.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I’m not used to that.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Something meaning something else.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Well, it’s not, really—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Maybe I’ve been out here on my own too much.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: That’s quite possible.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Out of touch.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Could be.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: It’s not good.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Being so . . . remote, like this.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: No—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I’m used to things being what they are. You know—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Right.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I mean a tree is a tree.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: I never said it wasn’t.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Long pause. They sit and sip.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: (Staring out) Is there anything sexier than women on bikes?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Women on bikes.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Where’d this come from now? Out of the blue.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I’m just saying—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I was just thinking—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Women on bikes?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Yeah. What’s sexier than that?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: I don’t know.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Long pause. They sip.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Horseback, maybe.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Women horseback?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Maybe.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: (Thinks) Nah.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Why not?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Too—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Buff. You know—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Buff?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Butch.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Oh, stop.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: On the muscle. You know what I’m talking about.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Oh—yeah, I suppose.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Upper arms. Sunburnt. Sweat pouring down their necks.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Thighs, maybe, too.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Exactly.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: That’s all good, though, isn’t it? Thighs.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Well, in moderation.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: All that power—between the legs.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Power?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Standing in the stirrups. Feet on the dashboard.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: No, but see, that’s what I’m saying—about the bikes. Women on bikes.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What about it?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: The legs—closer together. More delicate. More—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Oh, I see. Yeah. You mean on the bikes?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Exactly. Skirts flouncing against the pedals.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Flouncing?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Constant pumping.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Jesus, Ames—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: (Sighs) Aaah—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: You’re hopeless.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Long pause. They sip.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Supposed to be a total eclipse of the full moon at five a.m.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Is that right?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: According to the book.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: I didn’t realize you’d become a moon-gazer.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I’ve been studying it.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: You’ve always been full of boundless curiosity.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I’ll get the book. (Stands)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Book?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames:  Field Guide to the Night Sky. Fascinating stuff. Standing out here in the hay fields at night with a flashlight, you know—trying to figure out where everything is. Where we are in relation—constellations, you know. Makes my neck ache. (Picks up glasses) Another drink?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Why not? It’s only noon. Isn’t it?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Ames exits into the house. Screen door slams behind him. Pause. Byron stares at fan. He calls out to Ames but there is no answer.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Isn’t it noon, Ames? Roundabout?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Pause. The fan slows and stops. Byron stares at it, then gets up and pulls on chain, but fan does not start up again. Sounds of Ames fixing drinks inside. Byron sits back down, pulls out slim cigar. Lights it.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames’s voice: (From inside the kitchen while Byron smokes on porch) I do appreciate you coming all the way out here, Byron. On such short notice.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What are friends for?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames’s voice: Got myself into kind of a panic, I guess.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Yeah, well— Days were getting pretty long. You know, how they say out there, “Another boring day in Paradise.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames’s voice: Yeah. Well, at least you’ve got good company. Lacey. Someone to snuggle up with, nights. Hootchy-kootchy. How long have you two been together, anyhow?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Oh . . . good long while.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e (Ames returns with drinks and Field Guide tucked under his arm. Screen door slams shut behind him. Ames sets drinks down on the table; sits, thumbs through book. They both sip their bourbon.)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Here we go. Here we go. A little courage for the day.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: (After pause) You’re not actually getting up for it, are you?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: What’s that?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Total eclipse. At that hour. What was it?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: (Studying guide) Five a.m.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron:  You’re not rolling out at that hour just to stare at a black moon. Somehow, I can’t see you doing that. You’re not milking cows.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Might be one of those “once-in-a-lifetime” deals.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Naah. They happen all the time. At ungodly hours. That’s why we never see them.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames:  (Referring to Field Guide; puts glasses on, reads from book) Here’s the chart. Look at this: “Two thousand five, October seventeenth, seven oh four, Eastern Standard Time. Partial eclipse. Length of eclipse, fifty-six minutes.” That was two thousand five.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: October?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames:  Right. Here’s another one. (Reads) “Two thousand six, September seventh. Partial. Length of eclipse, one hour thirty minutes.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Longer.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames:  Yeah. But look—there hasn’t been a total eclipse of the full moon since March third, two thousand seven. (Reads) “Duration of totality, one hour fourteen minutes. Length of eclipse, three hours and forty minutes.”\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: That was just in March.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I know.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Of this year.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I know. Now, we’re in August of this year.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: So, that’s not so long ago. March. You were making it sound like it was centuries or something. Eons ago.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: How much time have you got left?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Me?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: On earth, you mean?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Where else are you going?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Well, no—I wasn’t— It’s not about my demise, for Christ’s sake.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames:  No, but what I’m trying to say is, we haven’t got all that much time left. Here. The two of us. That’s all I’m saying. It’s not so complicated.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Have you got a terminal illness or something? Is that what this is all about?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Never mind.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: Well, do you?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: No!\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: You’re not holding something out on me, are you, Ames? Silently suffering?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: No, I’m not. Of course not.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I don’t.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: What?\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Have a terminal fucking illness!\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: All right, all right. Let’s not fly off the handle here. We’ve just been reunited after all this time.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I’m just saying—we’re not exactly spring colts anymore.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: No, but evidently you can still get it up.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: Jesus—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Byron: I’m not all that handy anymore, myself. I mean—\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e Ames: I don’t want to hear about it!","brand":"Vintage","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303960039653,"sku":"NP9780345802767","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345802767.jpg?v=1767726847","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/fifteen-oneact-plays-isbn-9780345802767","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}