The “artist” is an aspiring playwright and an aspiring drunk, which is very different from being a paper waster and an alcoholic…he hopes desperately and tells himself often.

 

(there is a knock on the door)

​

Stuart:  Yes.

 

Detective:  Are you Stuart?  It’s Detective Jones, can you open the door please?

 

S:  How do I know you’re a detective?

 

D:  You can look through the peephole at my badge.

 

S:  The door doesn’t have a peep hole.

 

D:  You can open the door with the chain on.

 

S:   The door doesn’t have a chain.

 

D:  Open the door Mr. Caldwell.

 

(he does and the detective walks in)

 

D:  So you’re a playwright?

 

S:  I’m an aspiring playwright.

 

D:  What’s the difference?

 

S:  A door with a peephole and a chain.

​

He lives somewhere and eats somewhere and drinks somewhere and writes somewhere and sleeps somewhere and does it all mostly in Manhattan and has for twenty years.

He gets on.