THE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE
MR MORGAN: male, mid-50s
BAO: male, seventeen years old

MR. MORGAN is in a teenager’s bedroom, rifling through a drawer.

BAO: It shouldn’t be this hard, Mr. Morgan
MR: You try it kid, oh right you can’t- you’re dead.
BAO: Sounds like someone’s bitter about it.
MR: It’s just a lot to deal with all at once, okay?
I can’t believe I’m looking through a dead kid’s underpants drawer- is this really where you kept your piano notes? God, how much did you hate my classes?
BAO: Enough where if I had the opportunity to shart on it and come to bring it to you the next day, I would have done it yesterday.
MR: Jokes on you that yesterday was August 20, 1989- 31 days since you killed yourself. So actually, you couldn’t have unless ghosts can also shit. Which is impossible.
BAO: You’re talking to me, doesn’t seem too impossible.
MR: Aha! Here it is! Now the real search will be translating your chicken scratch into real words… you spelled Adagio wrong here with a “J”. As well as tempo? Good thing you never left my class, Julliard would have laughed you out the building.
BAO: Yeah..
MR: Sorry, maybe too soon.

Hey, I didn’t know you took a date to prom.
BAO: Yeah, Stephanie. She was really nice.
MR: Ah, is she the girl who dropped off your Tuba in the middle of our lesson? I learned two things that day. One, a girl who is willing to carry a Tuba that’s not hers is a keeper. And two, that you knew how to play the Tuba.
BAO: Yeah.
I left a note for her.
MR: I see it.
You had it in your underpants drawer as well.
BAO: It was the only place I knew to put it where my parents couldn’t find it.
MR: But instead your piano teacher did.
BAO: Yes.
They were up here earlier this morning.
They’re actually up here, every morning. As if they are expecting me to be in bed for them to wake up for school.
MR: That’s a nice suit you have on too. You always have such a minimalist wardrobe. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you wore a loin cloth to bed.
BAO: Who says I’m not wearing one now?
MR: Thank god you’re just a hallucination then.
BAO: Why do you keep saying god? “God” this, “thank god” that, could you give it a rest, maybe?
MR: Seems like someone had a hard time in line.
BAO: No, it’s just that why does god get all the credit? He did fuck-all with my life, what’s he to you?
MR: Well, I see it as there’s a little god in all of us. And we’re thanking him, her, they, them. Because something takes charge of our destinies in ways we can’t even imagine, we just take the easy way out and thank the supernatural. It’s like how math got lazy and invented infinity.
BAO: What’s one question you wish your god could answer?
MR: I’d like god to let me know when I’ve missed my chance.

My chance to really show someone that they should stick around.
BAO: Do you want to know my question?
MR: Of course.
BAO: At what point in life do people start forgetting how beautiful people can be?