Curtain up on a dark, run down back alley. Stairs lead up one brick wall, garbage cans line the other. Enter MR. FRUMP, a filthy old man in ragged clothes. He eagerly shambles up to the garbage cans and starts looking through them, muttering obscenities to himself. At the top of the third garbage can is a newspaper, which he looks over and starts to read. After a few seconds, MRS. FRUMP, a filthy old woman in a ratty coat, several shopping bags in her hand, enters. She appears excited.
MRS. FRUMP: Hey! Guess what I found!
MR. FRUMP: (grumpy) The Crown Jewels of England?
MRS. FRUMP: (shrieks) Noooo!
MR. FRUMP: I don't know! Give me a hint, why don't ya?
MRS. FRUMP: (opens a bag) Here. Smell this.
Mr. Frump puts his nose to the bag, sniffs, then quickly backs away, grimacing.
MR. FRUMP: Phew! That's...umm, could it be...red caviar?
MRS. FRUMP: Nooo! Guess again...
MR. FRUMP: (screwing up his face in deep thought) Shrimp? In clam sauce?
MRS. FRUMP: (indignant) Are you really trying?
MR. FRUMP: Alright, Missus. It's tuna. And, pretty powerful stuff it is, too.
MRS. FRUMP: (proud) Not just any old tuna. It's almost a full tin of cat food!
MR. FRUMP: (frowning) Why would anybody throw out a perfectly good tin of cat food?
MRS. FRUMP: You know how cats are. Panicky.
MR. FRUMP: Finicky.
MRS. FRUMP: If you say so. Have you found anything?
MR. FRUMP: (holds up the paper) Just an old newspaper...
MRS. FRUMP: What does it say?
MR. FRUMP: Oh, the usual: war, crime, municipal elections. Did you hear? Maurice Chavitz died?
MRS. FRUMP: (disbelief) No! Really? How?
MR. FRUMP: It didn't say...
MRS. FRUMP: We should find some flowers or something...
MR. FRUMP: Too late. The funeral was yesterday.
MRS. FRUMP: Oh. (confused) Who is...Maurice Chavitz? Did you know him?
MR. FRUMP: No, I didn't know him.
MRS. FRUMP: Well, I didn't know him
MR. FRUMP: I thought you knew him.
MRS. FRUMP: Well, I didn't.
MR. FRUMP: Oh. Well, he died.
MRS. FRUMP: Oh. (pause) Was there anything else?
MR. FRUMP: Oh, sure. Umm, it looks like Toronto is going to get a new stadium.
MRS. FRUMP: For sports?
MR. FRUMP: Who else?
MRS. FRUMP: That must be very nice for them.
MR. FRUMP: Maybe. But, the paper says that the dome is going to cost at least $225 million, $75 million more than they originally thought.
MRS. FRUMP: (dreamily) Two hundred and twenty-five million dollars...
MR. FRUMP: Now, don't get all starry-eyed, Missus. The money ain't ours.
vMRS. FRUMP: (indignant) Why not? Why should all that money be spent on a sports stadium when we could use some of it to live and eat proper?MR. FRUMP: (lecturing) Because, Missus, giving us money to live on would just mean that we'd have money to live on. But, investing in a domed stadium will mean huge revenues for the city, not to mention the civic pride involved.
MRS. FRUMP: (unconvinced) But, how will that help us?
MR. FRUMP: It won't. Not directly. But, a better economy will help everybody. That's why they say.
. (singing) Oh, give me a domeMRS. FRUMP: Doesn't sound very helpful to me.
MR. FRUMP: You've got to have faith in our leaders, dear.
MRS. FRUMP: Why? It's not like I voted for them.
Pause.
MR. FRUMP: It's starting to get dark.
MRS. FRUMP: It's always like that when people turn their clocks back.
MR. FRUMP: Why don't we get back to the cardboard shack and taste that tuna?
MRS. FRUMP: Okay. I think you're really going to like it. (they shuffle towards the exit) I found it near the Parliament building... (they exit)
Curtain.
(with elongated apologies to cowboys everywhere)
