Drawing 40

BIRD:
[Homeless man], how 'bout we go down to the “White Castle” sandwich shop?

HOMELESS MAN:
[Bird], that sounds…

FENCE:
I do not find “White Castle” sandwiches gastronomically pleasing. Even though I am not a part of this conversation, I must point this out.

TRASH CAN:
Please shut your mouth. “White Castle” sandwiches are stimulating in many ways.

LEFT SHOE OF HOBO:
Do not be so formal, [trash can]. Just call the “White Castle” sandwiches by their more popular name, “Sliders.”

TELEPHONE POLE:
I saw a deal for these “Sliders” just the other day. Stated said deal: “Five 'Sliders'—One dollar.”

TRASH CAN:
I find that deal pleasing to my senses…

LEFT SHOE:
And his wallet!

TRASH CAN:
(Bellows heartily)

TELEPHONE POLE:
Would you estimate yourself as capable of using “White Castle” sandwiches as your only sustenance for five consecutive nights, as I did just last year?

TRASH CAN:
I would attempt this feat to discover my aptitude, if not for the excessive toll doing thus would take on my bodily organs, functions.

TELEPHONE POLE:
Touché.

LEFT SHOE:
Why, what now comes to my mind, at this moment, is the way that the “White Castle” sandwich shop sometimes bundles 30 “Sliders” into one package, which is so very singular in itself.

TRASH CAN:
It lays ownership to a name. Which is…

TELEPHONE POLE:
(After some time) …A “Crave Case.”

LEFT SHOE:
Indeed!

TRASH CAN:
I nearly said a different name for this bundle, a name not “Crave Case.” I did not, however, speak this, for it would be erroneous to do so.

TELEPHONE POLE:
When we speak of this “Crave Case”, I imagine a fellow. But this fellow is not fiction; he is a man that we all have met at one time or another, from our daily lives. (Pause) Each week, following the end of Friday's work, this fellow makes his way down to the “White Castle” sandwich shop, where he buys one “Crave Case”. (Pause) Holding it like the briefcase that he wishes he obtained, the fellow swiftly walks down sidewalks to his living quarters, all the while sweating profusely—profuse anticipation. (Pause) You hear the loud opening of a door, the loud stomping of feet, but only a soft “click” on a table, the sound of the “Crave Case” being neatly placed. The fellow then dims the light, for mood, plays soft music from cassette, and goes on to eat all 30 “Sliders,” slowly and deliberately, while sitting alone in dimness.

LEFT SHOE:
I am convinced that this fellow, of whom I have met, makes a grandiose ordeal about stacking the boxes.

TELEPHONE POLE:
That he does. For this man does not want anything to ruin his special ceremony. For this fellow, Friday night is special. It is “White Castle” night.

TRASH CAN: Touché.