Issue 3 TOC
Compound Fracture


Lieutenant T.T. and his stagehands return to the stage.

LIEUTENANT T.T.:  Wee-ooo!  Wee-ooo!  Wee-ooo!

Everyman Kyle pulls over, as does Lieutenant T.T.  Lieutenant T.T. scribbles in the ticket book and then approaches Everyman Kyle’s window.  Everyman Kyle is beside himself.


LIEUTENANT T.T.:  I realized you haven’t had your seatbelt on this whole time.  Geez, where was my head?  Anyway, no need to see license or registration, and here’s the ticket.  Just sign it and I’ll be out of your hair.

EVERYMAN KYLE:  Wish I could believe that.

LIEUTENANT T.T.:  Well, sir, all you have to do is stop breaking the law right in front of my face.  Maybe I should just follow you for the rest of the night.  Or the rest of the week.  I could fill my quota.  Maybe be able to take some time off at the end of the month.  Then maybe Sara and I could really talk about things.  Maybe we could make things okay again.

EVERYMAN KYLE:  Follow me?  Fill your quota?  Jesus, haven’t I contributed enough already?  How many points do I have on my driving record by now?  I want to still have a license left by the time I get home.

LIEUTENANT T.T.:  Oh, your driver’s license is more important than the health of my marriage, is it?  I thought we understood each other, thought we were human beings, but now you’re putting something as artificial as a driver’s license above the love between a man and his wife, above the institution of family, even after I opened my heart to you, told you my true, personal troubles.

EVERYMAN KYLE:  Look, I’m sorry.  I didn’t--

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