Swell Zine: Consumption

Yeah, sorry I'm late-I had to fill up the Durango on the way over and the line was around the corner, cost me fifty bucks to fill it-fuckin' 'rabs, right? I swear to God we need a third war over there, get the gas prices back under a buck.

Yeah sweetie, just get me a large coffee, double-sweet-no, make that a grande mocha with a raspberry shot and whipped cream and, oh! some of those candy sprinkles. Thanks.

Damn it's getting warmer out, huh? And wouldn't you know, right after I drop-no, guess, how much do you think this jacket cost? Higher. Hah, even higher. Try three. Yeah, three! Well, it was imported from Italy and you get what you pay for, right?

Aw man, I haven't been here since... did I tell you about what happened to me the last time I was here? I just came by myself here to work on the new play, needed to get away from Linda-yeah, who still will not shut up about the ring, you'd think I killed those diamond miners myself the way she talks, and here I thought I was doing something fucking romantic! And not for cheap, my friend-not for cheap. Damn. Anyway, I come here by myself not too long ago, and-

Thanks. Wait! Where are the sprinkles? I asked for those candy sprinkles, you kno- Jesus, just take it back. Take it back and hey, don't just put sprinkles on the top of this one because it'll be cold by the time you get back-make me a whole goddamn new one and don't forget the sprinkles this time! Thanks, you're a gem.

So yeah, this guy comes over to me, right? He sits across from me at my table, if you can believe it. This old guy, a wasted relic of the Sixties or some shit, fried straggled-out hair down to his back, weather beaten leather face, rolling his own smokes as he yammers on about this and that-I have no idea most of what he said, he was having like a delayed acid trip or something. But he sees me writing, asks what it is, and when I tell him it's a play his eyes light up and he launches into the time he played Judas in some church play and when he was onstage he "burned" -his words-he was lit with a fire that consumed who he was, emptied him out and made him a vessel for Judas, blah blah blah-all I could think about was how quote-unquote fun it is for an audience to see an actor masturbating all over the stage. No, no, I didn't say that to him but he kept talking about being "consumed" and I said, "You know, quite a lot of people in the past died of consumption." So he gives me this blanker-than-normal look, a real sort of.... withering once-over, gets up from the table, and says, "Well you know, lots of people still do." Then he leaves! And I'm thinking, what an asshole, you know? Doesn't know it's been cured, consumption-you know, tuberculosis? Yeah, my wit wasted on a hippy junkie Deadhead-he must have missed that little news item while he was trancing on peyote in the desert or whatever.

OK! Here we go, that's better. Sprinkles! See, you get it right, I'm easy to please. Extra place in heaven for you, sweetie. Thanks.

Oh shit, I don't have time to drink this, I need to-hey, good talking to you! Do me a fave, dump that for me before you go, 'kay? I've got this doctor's appointment, can't seem to shake this fucking cough for the life of me.

Michael Rashid is an actor, playwright, and aspiring baker. Some Chicago companies he's acted and/or written for include Breadline (for which "Consumption" was originally written), NewTown Writers, MOB, Darknight, Theatre 5.2.1, and Imagination Theater. His critically acclaimed baked goods have made frequent appearances at work for staff birthdays and parties.